Lolita
by Kamikakushi
Summary: [AU] [Aoyagi Ritsuka smiled at the little butterfly, and took Soubi’s breath away.] A forbidden affair, a secret love, and all Hell breaks loose when the truth is revealed. R and R. Based on the novel Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov. [complete]
1. Act I

**Lolita **

By Jia Zhang

Act I

* * *

Agatsuma Soubi was not an ordinary man, and he never was. He had certain traits about him that made him more than the average man—his appreciation for beauty, his subtle wisdom, and this odd intellect that often stood out from behind his round spectacles. But no matter how brilliant he was, the first thought you'd have about Agatsuma Soubi was that he was weird.

But that was to be expected, because Soubi was not an ordinary man. His family always had high expectations for him, for him to become someone more than just mere human. He was special, that was what they said, that he had a keen eye, a gift from God that not many were able to touch. Ever since he was a young boy, Soubi had an odd fascination with art and beauty, which is probably where he received his acclaim as both a genius, and his queerness.

But Soubi had always heard this, so he had expected nothing more when he entered the Aoyagi Household, with all those eyes peering at him curiously.

He and Aoyagi Seimei had been childhood chums, who understood each other's thoughts and hearts, even. Seimei always tended to be a rather puzzling person to Soubi—quiet, reserved, non-chalant, but seeming as if he knew everything. When Seimei died, it had been a huge blow to the silver haired man. At the time, he had been away in Europe, traveling and painting. The young man was deeply troubled by his friend's death—Seimei the writer, who was enigmatic and rather immortal in all his forms. That was what disturbed Soubi the most, that such a person like Seimei, a figure of glory and power, could be taken down so easily by a mere illness.

However, only weeks after his dear friend's death, the Aoyagi family lawyer came knocking on his door. The Aoyagis had been one of the most powerful families in Japan. The Aoyagi seniors had tragically died on an airplane accident when Seimei was only in High School, leaving him and his younger brother orphans. But Seimei rose to the occasion, and worked to prosper his family's estate. His death had been a blow not only to his friends, but also his financial connections. Of course, with the older Aoyagi deceased, Soubi knew that it would be Seimei's younger brother who would have to take up the job.

Soubi had never met the younger Aoyagi sibling, but had heard stories of him from Seimei, who seemed to have adored his younger brother. Ritsuka was his name, if Soubi remembered correctly, whom Seimei described as a fragile and innocent butterfly. Soubi knew that Ritsuka had no force compared to his elder brother, thus knew the younger sibling would not be able to do well in a world such as theirs at his age. So Soubi was only half-surprised when the lawyer told him the conditions of Seimei's will.

_In light of my death, I would like for Agatsuma Soubi to be the sole guardian of Aoyagi Ritsuka and the Aoyagi Estate till Ritsuka comes of age._

That was what the will said.

And that was why Soubi was now here in the Aoyagi House.

The artist gazed around at his surroundings as the head butler led him to his room to set his things down, amongst the whispers of the other servants. He couldn't help but stare at the magnificent estate—paintings, grandeur and beautiful, Romanesque, and some with an old Parisian feel, statues made of white marble, sparkling in the Angel rays that peaked through the crimson velvet curtains of the windows. For a moment, Soubi envied Seimei, and only for a moment, for such a place was an artist's dream, of works of art and passion that were long ago thought lost to the ages. But at the same time, Soubi pitied Seimei to be tied down to a life he never wanted in the first place, to do what you have to do, and not what you want. It was beautiful, the Aoyagi Estate, but Soubi knew, to Seimei, this was a prison of unbreakable walls.

The Amethyst-eyed man nodded in appreciation to the butler, as the older man left him in his quarters. This room had been especially chosen for Soubi, that was what he had said before he left, by the Master in case of his death for who should become younger Master Ritsuka's guardian. The room was Grande, as expected of something Seimei would have chosen. The walls were of a rich oak, with a silver leaf pattern adorning the walls. The ceiling lights sparkled brightly in contrast to the crimson red velvet curtains that shaded the windows. Soubi's bed was, like the rest of the house, beautiful. A large silver four-poster bed, the columns spiraling, and covered with white bed sheets, with a golden lining and bright gold pillows.

Soubi sat down on a near by love seat and sighed deeply as he smiled to himself. What had you gotten me into, that was what he asked in his mind to his old friend. The truth was, nothing in the world, not even Seimei's deathbed wish could have made Soubi take the position as the younger Aoyagi's guardian. He was an artist, like Seimei was, and he couldn't be tied down to anything or anyone—Soubi's sole goal in life was to find that ultimate beauty, that one thing that would be the closest to God.

He wanted to capture that beauty in his art—but he never found it.

_Est-ce que une telle beauté existe?_

Which is why it led him here to the estate. Soubi believed that it was time for him to take a long deserved rest, to refresh himself before going into the search again. This would be a good time, that was what he believed—his decision to go on a temporary hiatus from the art world unfortunately coincided with his friend's death. And now he was left with the responsibility of a child.

The butler had informed Soubi that the young master Ritsuka had been in the gardens, reading one of the many books of the many libraries in the House. The artist thought that it was right time to meet the youth; after all, he was now his guardian, responsible for his well being and growth. The silver-haired man wandered aimlessly around the gardens, the flowers being watered by the sprinklers.

Soubi enjoyed looking at the flowers—the different hues and colours, the tulips, lilies, carnations, roses, were all a spectacular mixture for the eyes. They had such a simple beauty to them, but certainly not the beauty Soubi was searching for. The man had come to believe, rather, that he might never find that single spark of beauty he had always been searching deep within the crevices of this unholy Earth.

Before him, a butterfly flew up suddenly, its wings of a gleaming blue and black. It flew past his eyes, and shaded his vision only for a moment, and when it passed, Soubi felt a rush of blood run through him.

There laid before him the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

_Une beauté n'aiment aucun autre, un papillon noir et bleu._

He was no older than thirteen; Soubi was sure, maybe even younger. He lay carelessly on the perfect grassy ground, reading a book rather absent-mindedly. He lay on his stomach, his eyes staring intently at the pages and the words. His skin was like porcelain, smooth, with a light touch of pink. His rich black hair shined, wet from the sprinklers he chose not to hide from. He wore a simple white dress-shirt that seemed to be much too large for him, and pair of pale beige shorts that ran up to his thighs. They were wet from the water, and rather transparent, leaving little to the imagination. The clothes stuck to his body firmly, curving around him rather protectively. His feet dangled in the air, moving casually up and down. He seemed so innocent, so pure, so fragile like a doll that if Soubi would've touched him, he'd shatter into a million little pieces.

And Soubi's heart burst with love, adoration and affection for this thing that lay before him.

_Mon papillon précieux, mon lolita aimé._

Suddenly, the boy turned his head, having felt Soubi's presence and gaze. And Soubi saw his eyes—his magnificent, bright, wide mauve eyes that reflected the Sun and the Sky, that were nothing in comparison to his beautiful eyes. The boy seemed unaffected by Soubi's appearance, yet curiosity lit up on his face. But Soubi couldn't bear to turn away from him, this beautiful boy.

The butterfly decided to turn back, all of a sudden, and land on the boy's shoulders. His mauve eyes turned slightly to gaze at the blue and black butterfly, fluttering its wings lightly upon his shoulder. And suddenly, he smiled, so softly, gently, as if it were merely a whisper of words.

Aoyagi Ritsuka smiled at the little butterfly, and took Soubi's breath away.

_**Mon papillon.**_

* * *

End Act I

* * *

Author's Note:

This is by far one of the most bizarre stories I've ever written. This fic is actually inspired and partially based on a movie called , about a man who was unable to control his feelings for a twelve-year-old girl. I loosely based this fic off of that movie, which was brilliant, yet highly disturbing because it border into the realm of pedophilia. I actually am really disturbed by pedophilia, but writing this fic came quite naturally. Weird. I'm sure you've noticed the amount of obligatory French that has been littered through this fic— does have a strong French reference, and I used a bit of the directing style when writing this fic. Trying something new, I am. Hopefully, will be no longer than five acts. The storyline also gets racier as it goes on, with much sexual references and other suggestive matter. 

I'm already done Act II, and that will be posted on my Live Journal account in around a week.

Review please, and don't eat me!

_Jia Zhang_

* * *

© August, 2005 by Jia Zhang. All rights reserved.

* * *


	2. Act II

**Lolita**

By Jia Zhang

Act II

* * *

Ritsuka faintly remembers his parents. They were always away, on business and such—sparkling champagne parties on boats, galas in grandeous European hotels, extravagant festivals on the beaches of Cancun. He faintly remembers his mother, with eyes so sharp that they seemed to cut straight through him like amethyst stones. His mother was always cold, he remembers, unforgiving and relentless. Mother always disapproved of him—the younger child, the one that had hands so tiny and small, so incapable of doing anything. She was almost cruel in a way that she'd ignore him purposely. Ritsuka remembers her hands felt like a whip, made of stone and ice, and how her skin was pale and rough, yet soft like cream. Ritsuka does not remember if he ever really had a mother, or just a figure.

Then there was his father, a dull man, a useless man in all respect, except for in business. Ritsuka faintly remembers how much of a specter he was to his father, and how much of a ghost his father was. They rarely ever spoke, and when they did, it was a simple question about school. His father always seemed to hide behind his work, and the world he has created outside of his home. He seemed to have no interest in the life of his family. Ritsuka never really knew his father, though his blood ran through his veins. But what was left of him, Ritsuka was sure that it has all disappeared within a breath.

Ever since he was a child, Ritsuka never really had anyone, except for Seimei—his beloved older brother. He adored him—Seimei who was benevolent, strong, the dreamer, the idealist, yet a man no one could compare to. His brother was much older than him, and understood much more than he ever could. When Seimei went overseas to study in France, he felt so alone and abandoned. There was no one for him to play with—no companion by his side.

And he hated to be alone.

So to Ritsuka, he was glad when his mother and father died—people whom he never loved, and never hated, but only held a simple distaste for them. After all, he never really had any parents to begin with, no body to love him but Seimei.

As a child, Ritsuka always lived within the Aoyagi Estate. He was well informed by his mother that he was not well, so he had to stay well inside the estate, that he was not allowed to go out into the real world. But of course, like every child, Ritsuka rebelled, and ran away into a world he has always wanted to know. However, he was caught too soon, and punished severely by his mother.

With Seimei away, there were not many companions for Ritsuka, but only the daughter of a family servant named Yuiko, a high-spirited girl who was rather on the clumsy side. She was Ritsuka's only playmate for much of his childhood, but even she was forced away, always doing chores and such with her mother in the kitchen, where Ritsuka was forbidden to go to.

When Seimei returned after their parent's death, Ritsuka was ecstatic. He was so happy, to finally have his brother back with him. Seimei, who was patient. Seimei, who was kind. Seimei, whom he loved most of all, and loved him in return. To Ritsuka, Seimei was the only one who ever cared.

So when his brother died, his world turned upside down. Once again, Ritsuka was alone again. This time, he was utterly alone. But it was a long time ago that Ritsuka was a child. It was along time ago that he used to cry. Now, Ritsuka was no longer that Ritsuka. The moment his brother died, he changed—he was no longer the person he used to be. It hurt less to be this Ritsuka, who expected no form of love from anyone. And he was often reminded of that fact—_sans amour_, his mother used to say.

Ritsuka expected that to be the way it was now.

_Sans amour._

_Seulement, abandonné, et pour toujours le lolita précieux._

That was the way he will forever expect it to be.

_Mais vous êtes aimé. _

But then, there appeared before him this man, with his silver hair and blue eyes so deep and magnetic, twin azure crystals gleaming in the pitch-black night sky. He said he was Seimei's old friend—and Ritsuka could believe that, because Seimei had so many friends. But this man, he did not know. He said that in his will, Seimei had left the guardianship of Ritsuka to him, that from today forward he would protect Ritsuka from all the thunderstorms, the windy nights, and the shivering cold waves. He said that his name was Agatsuma Soubi, an artist.

Ritsuka faintly remembers that he was curious, as to whom this person was that his brother left him to. After all, Seimei wouldn't just leave him to anyone, now would he?

The amethyst eyed boy with the dark raven tresses' first impression of the artist was that he was simply rather queer, a Cheshire cat smile lit up his face the moment his eyes laid upon Ritsuka. And the boy remembers that he had never had anyone look at him the way Soubi did—not his mother, not his father, not what little friends he has, not the servants, and certainly not Seimei. There was something about the way that Soubi gazed upon him that made Ritsuka blush—they were eyes that spoke something so completely foreign to Ritsuka, because he was still just a child.

No one as old as Seimei had ever paid as much attention to him as Soubi did. In fact, to the younger Aoyagi sibling, it was rather nice. And Soubi was so kind—devious, a trickster rather like the Piped Piper, a mystery, an enigma, a shadow that if you didn't look hard enough would disappear into a specter of nothingness.

Although, like Seimei, Soubi worked hard to keep the Aoyagi Estate in its best conditions. But he also found vast amounts of time for Ritsuka—more than even his brother ever did. Together, he and Ritsuka would take trips to the museum, and Soubi would tell him of the stories behind those magnificent paintings, the story behind the hues, the blues and the reds. He'd tell him tales of the old legends, the thousands of Trojan ships that attacked Greece all for the beauty of Helene of Troy, the intricate love story of Cleopatra and Mark Anthony, the tragedy of Oedipus, and the great journey of Odysseus. He'd read him old poetry, Shakespeare and his sonnets, the star-crossed love of Romeo and Juliet, and the sweet Midsummer Night's Dream. And together, they'd take long walks in the park, making memories along the water that ran through the grass, and the flowers that bloomed towards the bright morning Sun. Together, they'd take a day off to go see the countryside—sit amongst the Sunflowers, and the grass, and the clouds that morphed into so many different shapes, listening to Chopin on the radio.

And never—_never—_did Ritsuka have such an opportunity to gaze at the beauty of the world.

But Ritsuka thought, there was nothing more beautiful than Soubi's paintings.

He remembers well, the day that Soubi took him into his studio, to show him a painting he had been working on the moment he had entered into the Aoyagi Estate. It was a painting of him—of Ritsuka, the fateful day the two had met. He was smiling, at the blue and black butterfly that landed upon his shoulder, its wings fluttering about.

It was oddly beautiful.

And Ritsuka remembers well, the moment he turned to Soubi. The man smiled down upon him, with that queer smile that Ritsuka would often see upon his face when they were together. A smile that was brighter than the Sun, simple and tranquil. A smile that made Soubi seem as if he had all of his questions answered.

You're beautiful, he had said.

_Mon beau lolita. Mon papillon bleu et noir._

Slowly, and gently, Soubi knelt down till he was at eye level with Ritsuka, azure blue staring into deep amethyst. Ritsuka felt the blood rush into his cheeks as Soubi smiled, cupping his cheek and kissing him gently on the lips. It was sweet, and soft, neither demanding nor rushed. And Ritsuka remembered that Soubi tasted like ginger tea.

And Ritsuka remembers well, and would always remember, as he opened his eyes and Soubi leaned away from him. The man had spoke so tenderly.

_I love you._

_**Je t'aime.**_

And he kissed Ritsuka once more.

* * *

_End Act II_

* * *

**  
Author's Note: **

oO; Oh my god…what the hell is wrong with me? I feel like I'm writing shota. Then again, _Loveless_ does kinda border on the line of shota. ((sigh)) Well, whatchagonnado? Well, I finally finished the second chapter of _Lolita_. As you must have noticed by now, the content of this fic is getting a little dangerous, if you can read between the lines. In any case if this fic is taken off of it can still be found on my Live Journal account.Each Actwill also be released either a week or adayearlier on my Live Journal (along with all my other fics). Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this chapter of _Lolita_. Remember! It will get racier! XD

Sankyuu, and review! ((ducks sharp knives)) Don't hurt me! XD

_Jia Zhang_

* * *

© August, 2005 by Jia Zhang. All rights reserved.

* * *


	3. Act III

**Lolita**

By Jia Zhang

Act III

* * *

There had always been much ambiguity and mystery about the old Aoyagi family—a long and troubling history that not many ever bothered to look into; after all, they were the Aoyagi family, an extended line of powerful merchants and politicians that had always had some odd power over Japan. But, that was how the people always remember it to be. That was how the Aoyagi House always remembers it to be. And that was how Yuiko always remembered it to be.

There was nearly a hundred or so year history of the old Aoyagi Estate, a vast piece of land North of the central city of Tokyo. Built sometime in the late 1800s, it was the work of a famous English architect, during Japan's brief but prosperous time of companionship with old Britannia, much like the rest of Asian during that century. It was a rather large manor, the Aoyagi Estate, running hundreds of acres of land, all by now supremely valuable. It was fashioned in an old English design—the dark gray walls were covered with thick green vines that ran up to nearly the third floor. There were gardens near the back, with hundreds of different variety of flowers, and the front sod of green pasture passed over nearly a mile before it reached the front gate. The insides were full of great marble columns, rosewood floors, and velvet curtains, with hundreds of rooms, each more beautiful than the next. It was indeed a place of great beauty and magnificence, a history that was thought lost to the ages.

But of course, there is no such beauty without its dark secrets—Cleopatra, Helen of Troy, Marilyn Monroe, they who were beautiful with their bitter skeletons in the closet. And there wasn't a secret in the history of Japan that could compare to the history of the Aoyagi Estate. Each of its many rooms told a tale, each of its many paintings had a memory, and each of its lowly obedient servants knew all about those secrets.

_Interwine de mensonges et de beauté._

_C'est une énigme, ce paradis interdit._

Tales of the dark history of the Aoyagi Estate had been passed down since the beginning of the grandeur manor between the servants, all of them carefully guarded by the head butler, who always seemed to be the watcher of the household. The servants knew what had happened in each room, in each hallway, the time, the day, and the sinful deed—murders, scandals, affairs, and the realm of the forbidden.

It was, of course, of no surprise that young Yuiko would learn of those secrets too.

Yuiko was a rather vivacious young girl, barely twelve in her years; she was a rather pleasant symbol of purity and innocence for this manor that was constantly shrouded in darkness. She was the niece of the Estate's head butler, and the daughter of one of the head maids. Throughout the majority of her life, Yuiko had spent her life working along side of her uncle and her mother in the Aoyagi Estate, so she had come to hear of one thing or the other.

But Yuiko was just a simple girl, so she had no comprehension for what the grown-up women often gossiped about as they did the daily laundry. But many of these rather peculiar stories often stuck in Yuiko's simple mind like bee to honey.

It was around the time of the former masters of the manor, the late Mr. and Mrs. Aoyagi's death, that Yuiko had heard this particular story. The Master Seimei had just returned from school to take care of his family's empire, and his younger brother Ritsuka. Yuiko remembers eavesdropping on her mother's gossip for the pure fact that it concerned her dear friend Ritsuka. She remembers how the women had rather snidely commented how it much more pleasant to have the young Master Seimei to lead the Estate, instead of his late parents. It had been a well-known fact amongst all the servants that Mrs. Aoyagi had been a rather painful woman to deal with—she herself had come from a very prominent political family. The women seemed rather glad that the late Mrs. Aoyagi had died. Then, that was when Yuiko remembers hearing something very bizarre, just as she began washing the satin pillow sheets.

One of the maids spoke of a rather curious matter—the relationship of the late Mrs. Aoyagi and her two sons. It was rather queer, said the maid, how Mrs. Aoyagi had seemed to adore one of her sons, yet seem to despise the other. It was well known that Master Seimei had been the more intellectual and gifted son of the two, but the younger brother, Ritsuka, was a deathly sweet child. The servants all regarded him with some sort of pleasantry—the adorably beautiful child, who's smile seems to make their work much more bearable. Ritsuka had always been a lovely little boy—polite, caring, sweet, with the most infectious smile.

It was a rather mysterious matter, how biased Mrs. Aoyagi was to her eldest son. Yuiko remembers well how the maids speculated that Mrs. Aoyagi wasn't the natural birth mother of Ritsuka—that he may have been her stepson. But that rather ridiculous theory was thrown out the window—one of the older maids of the house spoke rather stiffly that Ritsuka was definitely an Aoyagi, and most definitely Mrs. Aoyagi's child. Unfortunately, of course.

It was then, that a rather disturbing rumor had arisen.

One of the older maids, who had worked in the house since the late Master Aoyagi's birth, had revealed something quite disturbing she had always found. Mrs. Aoyagi was eminent for being very partial to her eldest son—showering him with affection. But, the maid had said, the kind of affection that Mrs. Aoyagi used to give to Master Seimei wasn't the type of affection a woman gives to her first born. Instead, said the maid, it was never a look of motherly love that Mrs. Aoyagi used to give her son, rather a look one would shower for a lover.

There was booming silence as this piece of information was digested.

_C'était en effet la vérité horrible et fascinante._

Then, the rumor began to build. Some of the maids had always seen that Mrs. Aoyagi regard his son in rather inappropriate manner. She'd hold and touch him like no mother ever should, and her kisses never seemed to be for the corner of the mouth.

Of course, none of these women ever spoke out loud of what they pondered in their minds, but it was well insinuated in that conversation. Although Yuiko didn't understand too well what the women were talking about, she was smart enough to understand what they seemed to have understood—there was never an innocent relationship between the late Mrs. Aoyagi and her eldest son.

Mrs. Aoyagi was always such a wrathful woman, said one maid. She did not need to continue, for all the maids thought the same thing—'It wouldn't be a surprise if she had attempted such a _thing_.'

But Yuiko didn't consider how this would affect the young Ritsuka, but that empty thought was quickly trampled by another revelation by the gossiping maids.

Suddenly, a young maid openly gave out an idea—'what if Ritsuka wasn't Master Aoyagi's son?'. But they all knew that young Master Ritsuka was definitely an Aoyagi. A shroud of silence fell over the women as each of them began to grasp that bit of hearsay. For a long time, what seemed like an eternity, none of them spoke. Yuiko remembers that it was a moment of frightening silence. But it was shattered by sound of her uncle coming into the laundry room, telling the women off for talking too much and not working enough.

That matter of gossip was never spoken of again.

_Silence, silence. C'est un secret dont nous ne parlons pas._

Of course, Yuiko didn't understand what those words meant at the time. Of course Ritsuka was Master Aoyagi's son, and Ritsuka was definitely an Aoyagi. So how could Ritsuka be an Aoyagi if he wasn't Master Aoyagi's son? Who else could Ritsuka be the son of?

It was a child's reasoning—that had no poison lingering in it.

_L'esprit de la fille n'a eu aucun poison._

At the time, what she didn't understand couldn't be applied to that thoughtful question—of how much Mrs. Aoyagi had seemed to detest her youngest son. It was still even a puzzle to the gossiping women, but they didn't consider many factors that may have led to an answer—how much Seimei seemed to adore his younger brother, how much attention he had showered on Ritsuka, how much more kind and thoughtful Seimei was to Ritsuka compared to everyone else, how much more important was Ritsuka to Seimei.

Perhaps those considerations may have sought an answer to such a startling family secret.

Of course, even without the full understanding of such a matter, Yuiko had thought of the matter much like how she would think of the matter if she knew the truth—that Mrs. Aoyagi and Ritsuka were like Snow White and her evil Stepmother.

It was an odd sort of tale by the Brothers Grimm.

_Une histoire sinistre foncée de beauté et de déception._

But the time of pondering for the old glory of the Aoyagi family was dead and gone with the death of Seimei—the last true tie between the Estate and that old grandeur, which had withered away with the departure of such a true Aoyagi heir. After all, Ritsuka, a bright and splendid child, no matter his brilliance and adoration by all, could not compare to the intellect that Seimei had possessed. It would be years, perhaps, before that child could become a man—to transform from caterpillar to a butterfly.

Of course, to Soubi, Ritsuka was already a butterfly.

_Mon papillon._

From the moment the silver-haired man had entered into the manor, he created a spur of rumors and other speculations. The House deemed Soubi as someone whom didn't seem appropriate to be the temporary guardian of the old Estate, much less be the guardian of the young Ritsuka. All of the women that worked in the house found Soubi to be rather strange, but handsome nonetheless. He was regarded as some odd enigmatic figure that before had never existed in anyone the House had known, with the exception of Seimei. He was kind, courteous, and never seemed to trouble anyone. He kept the estate in the tip-top condition that Seimei had done. But those were only Soubi's exterior features—secretly, the House knew that Soubi was a man with many secrets, as many as the House has known through its hundred-year centennial.

The House also knows, that from the instant Agatsuma Soubi had entered into the grandeur manor, he never had an innocent gaze for the young Ritsuka.

But the House chose to say nothing of it.

_Ne voir l'aucun mal._

_Ne parlez aucun mal. _

_N'entendez aucun mal._

_Nous sommes aveugles et muets._

It was just in the manner of the Aoyagi Estate to keep everything steady, to keep everything in that picture perfect condition, to keep everything in its old age glory and beauty, to keep everything hidden under the surface of the water.

Which may be why Yuiko thought nothing of that particular evening.

It was a Saturday evening, the one evening that the servants of the House had a little break, if they had completed their dutiful chores. Normally, Yuiko would be free this night to go into town with her mother or friends from school to visit the cinemas, but she had skipped her laundry duties the day before, and was now forced by her mother to make up for them. She was probably the only one in the house, she had thought, since everything was deathly quiet, without the normal movements of the servants. From each of the many rooms, Yuiko collected the bed and pillow sheets for washing. From each room she went, unnoticed by the House.

The last room she was supposed to collect sheets from was one of the rooms at the end of the quarter of the House, where all the rooms were large and grand. This particular room was often used by Soubi to do his reading, or studies or paintings, and it was regarded as his studio. Many times, Ritsuka would be in this room as well, to read poetry and watch Soubi paint. For Yuiko, she didn't know whether or not that Mr. Agatsuma, as he was known, was in his room, his art studio, or was he out in the city with Master Ritsuka, as they had habitually done on Saturday nights for the many months that Soubi had been in the house.

So when Yuiko came to the hallway of the grand bedrooms, she saw that Soubi's studio door was open—and that was queer, for all the doors of all the other rooms were closed. It had been curious to the House from the beginning as to why Soubi had chosen to use that room as his studio, or why he had never done anything to move the other items from the room. Instead, Soubi simply said that he would like the House remains as it was when Seimei had died, and that he had chosen the room for the simple fact that it had very large windows with great lighting.

When Yuiko approached the door, she didn't know what to expect. Then, she heard the voice of Ritsuka, reading what seemed like poetry.

_The sun makes his overture beyond the horizon,  
__and sings of the symphony long lost to the ages.  
__Tomorrow, we shall forget the finches in the trees,  
__and the blue bird upon my windowsill.  
__The storm would have long past the morning dew, and  
__whatever is left of our past history has been shattered  
__into bits of ash and mold.  
__Would you then finally take my hand and lead  
__me into our garden paradise, for only  
__with you can I see my longed utopia._

And Yuiko saw an image through the crack of the open door—Soubi leaned back in a loving rosewood rocking chair, with Ritsuka sitting on his lap in nothing but one of the rather large white shirts he often wore. But Yuiko had found the position of where Ritsuka sat to be rather odd. The boy had a rather splendid smile on his face as he flipped through the pages of the book of poems, skimming through some of them rather quickly. He read one, after another, and one more—his voice singing the words. But Yuiko knew that Ritsuka did not read those poems for himself, for Ritsuka had never breathed as much love into those words for anyone as he did at that moment for Soubi.

And then, she saw Soubi's foot, pushing against the floor, and the rocking chair creaked as it began to tilt back and forth. Yuiko saw Ritsuka move along with the chair, his breathing suddenly heavy. His amethyst eyes closed, and he lowered his hands, the book nearly falling to the floor. And Yuiko saw, the odd rhythmic movement and sound of the rocking chair moving back and forth, and look of adoration in Soubi's eyes as he gazed as the boy before him. Ritsuka's cheeks were slightly tinged with pink and his back was arch in crescent, and there was a rather odd expression upon his face. And in the violent silence of House, there came a soft moan of pleasure.

_C'était un secret. On l'a interdit -- un amour comme Romeo et Juliet._

It would be years later that Yuiko would once again remember that day, and the house she had grew up in. It would be years later that Yuiko would remember that quiet Saturday evening when she saw something she knew she never should have seen—something forbidden, yet oddly beautiful in its own right. And it would be years later that Yuiko would truly understand the magnitude of what she had seen.

But the Yuiko of the moment was just a little girl, in a House with many secrets and many lies. So, she thought nothing of what she had seen.

_Elle n'a pensé rien à lui._

* * *

_End Act III_

* * *

**Author's Note: **

Yuiko may not understand it, but I hope everyone else was able to understand what the hell I was insinuating at the end of Act III.

((dies ))What the hell was I thinking writing this fic? ((goes crazy)) I have lost it. As you have probably noticed by now, each of the chapters so far has featured a different character, and yes this chapter did have Yuiko. But she was more of a medium for the Aoyagi Estate in this story more than anything else. It's also to show the apathy of certain individuals in certain situations cough. This was quite a hard chapter to write, because it had so much description. But I think it came out rather well.

The inspiration for the Aoyagi Estate actually came from Manderley, an old English manor in the novel _Rebecca_. I've been reading a bit of the book before I wrote this chapter, so there was a lot of inspiration from the novel for this Act. Also, please note that the Aoyagi house is a very important property in this fic, as that it is rather personified as person, and this will be noted more significantly towards the end of the story. (Also, the fic will have longer chapters as the story goes on)

Also, another thing I insinuated in this story is the relationship between Seimei and his mother. And no, it isn't completely what you may have imagined. I was thinking more in the lines of sexual abuse, than incest. And no, the bit I insinuated about Ritsuka being Seimei's son is not true. That factor does not exist in my fic. Due to his mother's sexual abuse, Seimei is more protective of Ritsuka than anything else. And because of the attention and love Seimei shows to Ritsuka, it makes their mother jealous, thus is why she tends to be a little cruel to her youngest child.

I am cruel and evil woman. ((sigh)) For anyone who had seen the movie _Lolita_, or read the book, you may recognize the same scene with Humbert and Lolita and the damn fucking rocking chair. twitches uncontrollably I thought it was a very important piece, which is why I had to incorporate it into this Act. No matter how much it disturbs me. ((twitch twitch)) Oh, and the stupid poem is by me…

Wow, that was a long note.

Anyways, thanks for reading, don't eat me, and please! Don't report me to Interpol!

_Jia Zhang_

* * *

© August, 2005 by Jia Zhang. All rights reserved.

* * *


	4. Act IV

**Lolita**

By Jia Zhang

Act IV

* * *

The late Mrs. Aoyagi had been rather infamous in her circle of friends—the high society of Japan, by business, art or politics. As a young maiden, Mrs. Aoyagi had known many men, several of whom courted her, or had become her valued companions. One in particular was a man called Ritsu.

Ritsu was by all means not a special man to Mrs. Aoyagi—there were others more special and endearing—but a kindred spirit in many ways. They had known each other since they were children—playing the same games, attending the same school, and running in the same circle. They were bosom friends, the dearest of companions, the most secret of all confidants. Ever since she was a young schoolgirl, Mrs. Aoyagi had confided in Ritsu of all her secrets and romances. He was like her diary, where she could spill out her heart, no matter how twisted and tormented and etched in rock it was.

But Mrs. Aoyagi always loved Ritsu's company. Next to only Seimei, he was the only man she ever truly cared for, even if she didn't seem to be aware of it. The two friends were so alike in many ways—cruel, taunting, calculating, the mastermind of their own dimensions. They were often thought of as a snake with two heads by those around them, either friend or foe.

Ritsu had always been considered a rather intelligent and brilliant man. He was a literature professor at a London university, and was always giving lectures in around Europe. Often when he returned to Japan, he would bring stories of great curiousity and splendor to the Aoyagi Estate. He'd tell them stories of the Royal Family, or the older tales of Jack the Ripper. He detailed all his travels along the moor, and the magnificent rainbows after a day of heavy storms. The House always found Ritsu to be a very curious figure—troubling, devious, a Jack-of-all-trades, a devil in disguise. But Ritsu-sensei—as many referred to him, even Mrs. Aoyagi—was an incredibly kind man, with glistening silver hair, and deep blue eyes that seemed to see into the depth of your soul. He always had a certain aura about him that attracted everyone, and most of all Mrs. Aoyagi.

_Un démon dans le déguisement._

If it were not for her eldest son, many of the House knew that the responsibility of the grand manor would have been left to the idiosyncratic professor of literature. Ever year, Ritsu-sensei would return to Japan, and visit his dear old friend. It was one of the occasions during the year that the House would be the busiest. All the bed sheets would be washed before his arrival, the rooms cleaned to a spotless finish. The kitchen would be busy to plan a great menu for this illustrious guest. It was such an occasion.

Even after the death of Mrs. Aoyagi, Ritsu-sensei still made his yearly visits to the estate, though his stays were much shorter than before. The professor, though eccentric and enigmatic to everyone, did not have a very good relationship with Seimei, of all people. The Aoyagi heir had never trusted Ritsu—ever since he was a child, Seimei always thought that Ritsu was simply not a man you'd trust. He was too much a fox, too much like his mother—devious, spiteful, but with an angelic face that all seemed to love.

It would have seemed reasonable to all that Seimei would write in his will for Ritsu-sensei to take care of Ritsuka if he ever should die, but against the advice of all, Seimei refused such a notion—and only did the House knew why.

Seimei always had a suspicion towards Ritsu-sensei. He was not the saint he appeared. He was always kind to everyone, but whenever he came to the estate, he was always especially darling towards Ritsuka. It was odd, how sweet he was on Ritsuka, patient, and understanding—to Ritsuka, he was like the father he should have had. Ritsu-sensei's attitude towards the young Aoyagi child was even bizarre for Mrs. Aoyagi, who disliked her youngest born most of all.

Mrs. Aoyagi had always wondered why Ritsu had such a taking to her son. She asked him once. He simply laughed that full and hardy laugh of his, full of mockery and ridicule that you could neither see nor hear. He's a beautiful child, he had replied, no matter how much you deny it my old friend. And that was all.

Perhaps Seimei understood what no other had even wanted to imagine. But Seimei never left the custody of Ritsuka to the professor, but to his friend. So even he never thought of a time that once again should Ritsu-sensei bring his presence upon the estate.

It was winter. The snow blanketed over the city of Tokyo, and the wilderness of the Aoyagi Estate. Everything was dipped inside an inspiring colour of silver and white—it was clean and pure, and absolutely marvelous. Ritsuka loved this time the most, to play in the snow, slide down on a hill in a toboggan, catch the snow flakes upon your mouth, to drinking in this beautiful winter wonderland.

And it was so much more wonderful to spend that time with Soubi.

The older man often took him to the more open fields deep inside the forest. They were always alone, though sometimes Ritsuka took Yuiko along. But most of the time, it was just the two of them. They'd laugh, and play in the snow, until they were both warm and cold and laughing. They'd often get into snowball fights, though the outcome was always sketchy, since Ritsuka would always eventually bring his attack upon Soubi in an avalanche of white powder.

Sometimes, quite often in fact, as the two lay inside the snow, laughing together, Soubi would grab onto Ritsuka, and hold him close, placing an icy kiss upon his lips. The boy would blush much of the time, but on this occasion, this particular day where they enjoyed the white, the clean and the sky, he was much more bold. He deepened the kiss, opening his mouth, shuddering lightly as the azure-eyed man slid his tongue inside. It was such a bizarre intrusion, and perhaps in the back of his childish mind Ritsuka realized it was wrong and inappropriate, but he didn't seem to give the matter any thought at all.

Perhaps he was in love. But Ritsuka was still a child, so he had no concept of it.

For Ritsuka, Soubi was just Soubi—an enigma, a gravity, his absolute vertigo.

_Mon amour, mon hantise, le propriétaire de mon âme._

_Vous êtes mon tout. _

_Embrassez-moi, tenez-moi, possédez-moi, et je suis à vous._

_Aimez-moi, aimez-moi, et amour seulement je._

On this day, this particular day, the preparations for the Annual Aoyagi Winter Gala would begin. It was such a special occasion, to many of the high elites of the world. The Aoyagi's Winter Gala, of music and dining, was the peak of any particular social establishments of the year. Many would come from all around the world—Japan, China, England, America, France, Germany, and so forth. This had been a celebration that the Aoyagi family had celebrated for several generations, and it was well known to all that the event was always best organized by the late Mrs. Aoyagi. When she had been the matriarch of the household, the Winter Gala was the best of its age—the food, and wine, and music, and décor was all beyond that of any regular gathering of splendor.

And Seimei had kept to his mother's procedures for the Gala, and so did Soubi.

Soubi remembered coming to the house once before for the Gala with his parents. It was before he and Seimei had first met, before the two had become such kindred friends. Soubi remembered it to be such an amazing celebration, grandeur, beautiful, glistening inside the sparkle of champagne bubbles. Soubi was never one to plan and organize such a gala as famous as those Mrs. Aoyagi had arranged—so, he just kept to her plans, as Seimei had done.

For days the House was busy with activity, cleaning and grooming the manor, planning the menu for the guests, weeding the gardens, placing beautiful winter features in around the house—holly, flowers, crystal and more. It was such a sight to see.

But Soubi could see how displeased Ritsuka was about all of this. It was quite evident to the azure-eyed man that his young lover had never been in good relations with his mother, and even such a memory as the galas were not a pleasant reminiscence. Ritsuka has told Soubi that he had never been allowed to see the Galas, until his mother had died and Seimei had taken over the preparations. When he was a child, his mother would always lock him in his bedroom, saying that children should come to galas. But Ritsuka heard the voice of children, their happiness with _their_ family. When he was little, he used to cry on those nights, and Seimei would come to comfort him. Even when Seimei became the Master, Ritsuka still didn't like the galas. He had begged his brother not to have them anymore—but they were a tradition, something even Seimei did not wish to break.

And neither did Soubi, for it was an obligation of his contract in Seimei's will.

Ritsuka certainly was not happy at all. He completely avoided Soubi for the rest of the day, often spending his time in the library, reading poetry by Poe, Elliot, Keats and Dickinson. He wasn't upset with Soubi, knowing fully that this was something he had to do. But it didn't change the matter of how upset Ritsuka was.

He hated his mother, and this entire estate, this name, this fate that he was forced to trek upon. Ritsuka knew, that after Seimei died, when he was old enough, he would have to follow in his family's heritage. He didn't want any of this. He wanted Soubi to take him away from the pressure of his blood and lineage. He wanted the freedom he was always denied. Soubi was that freedom, but even he could not offer Ritsuka his desired escapism.

Oh, how he wished to leave with Soubi to all the places he had described—Paris, the Americas, Russia, and so much more. He wanted to see, to touch, to learn, to taste, to experience all the world had to offer. He hated this suffocation—this twisted sense of claustrophobia of his imprisonment.

Until this _name_ of his came crumbling into ash, Ritsuka knew he would never be able to escape from his fate. Oh, if only Soubi would take him away.

Prenez-moi de cet endroit, et aimez-moi en tant que vous par le passé. 

_Laissez-moi s'échapper._

The boy sat gazing out of his window at the sky, cloudy with gray and black. A storm was brewing, of snow or rain he did not know. But an awesome storm it would be. He heard the maids talking outside of his room. The invitations for the Aoyagi Winter Gala had been sent. Soon, the mountains of guests would be arriving for the festivities. Ritsuka buried himself into the blankets of his bed as the maids mentioned the names—Kyouraku, Takahashi, De Lacier, Montessori, Williamson, Chang, Quatermaine, and names that meant nothing to Ritsuka.

And then—

_Ritsu-sensei will be coming as well_.

Ritsuka sat up.

_Ah, ce nom, ce nom pécheur._

He gazed his curious amethyst eyes at the door as he continued to listen to the loud chatter of the maids. The professor would be returning to Japan from Berlin for the Winter Gala, but would only be staying that one-day. He would speak to the new Master of the estate, and see some old friends. But that would be all.

This made Ritsuka curious. The good sensei was always such a mysterious figure in his life—he'd come and go often when Mrs. Aoyagi was still alive. He was always so peculiar, and so kind. Ritsuka remembered how he'd sit him on his lap, and he'd tell him stories, of ancient battles, or tragic romances, or tales by the Brothers Grimm. Ritsuka particularly liked the sensei's visits—he was one of the few adults he appreciated. To the boy, Ritsu-sensei was the like the father Ritsuka wished he had.

But no matter how much Ritsuka enjoyed the sensei's company, Seimei always disapproved of him. His brother never seemed to like the man. Seimei's eyes were always cold and foreboding towards Ritsu-sensei. He didn't trust a word the man said; he didn't trust the man at _all_. And Ritsuka never cared to know why.

It was perhaps because Ritsuka never noticed the way Ritsu-sensei held him, or the way Ritsu-sensei looked at him, or the way he spoke to him. Tiny details—Ritsuka didn't seem to notice them at all; they were only kindness to him. But Seimei did. Seimei knew what the good professor was capable of, which is why he never placed Ritsu-sensei in his will for Ritsuka's guardianship. The man was like a spider, that was Seimei's perception of him, and had he left the guardianship to the professor, he would've caught Ritsuka in his web of deception and lust, and Seimei's beloved brother would become that innocent little butterfly caught in his trap. Seimei knew well—Ritsu-sensei was too much like his mother.

_Une araignée._

_Hush, hush, je suis sa hantise privée._

And that was why Seimei left the guardianship to Soubi—to keep Ritsuka away from that man, so he wouldn't be succumbed to him, wouldn't fall for his dangerous perfection. And only could Soubi keep Ritsuka away from him.

But Katsuko knew this was not so.

Katsuko had grown up knowing Mrs. Aoyagi, as well as Ritsu-sensei. But she was never such a _good_ friend with Mrs. Aoyagi or Ritsu-sensei, though she was a regular with both. Katsuko's key relation to the Aoyagi family was mainly through Ritsuka. When the boy was still very young, the Aoyagi family physician had insisted for the young boy to go see her for the first time—Katsuko-sensei was a psychologist.

Katsuko always had a fondness for the youngest Aoyagi boy. She was very sweet on him; to her, Ritsuka was like the son she never had. Although, as she would sometimes think, after her sessions with the child, that she would have much preferred to meet him on different circumstances than to simply be his shrink.

Katsuko was yet another in the long line of people who could have been chosen for Ritsuka's guardianship. Although she was not close to Seimei, Katsuko understood Seimei best next to perhaps only Soubi. After Seimei's death, and Soubi's entrance into the Aoyagi estate, Katsuko became even more concerned for the mental well-being of the boy, after all, he already had so much to deal with throughout his life—the neglect of his mother, the abandonment of his father, the death of both his parents, the bereavement of his beloved older brother, and ultimately, Soubi's appearance in his life.

The good doctor, through all her time of being Ritsuka's mental caretaker, had seen the boy change so drastically from one persona to another. He was always perhaps the most at norm with his eldest brother, but the moment Agatsuma Soubi entered his life, Ritsuka yet again became someone new—yet another personification of the real Ritsuka that the doctor had to deal with.

The way the golden child had evolved was completely unexpected. From the happy bubbly child, he changed into a morbid young student of literature, and then finally, to this immature adult in a child's body. Such a puzzle was Ritsuka, much like the older brother, but nonetheless easier to read. After the death of his parents and the return of his brother, the young boy's mood seemed to have heightened greatly. Katsuko-sensei knew that it was extremely bizarre for a child to enjoy in his parent's demise, but in Ritsuka's case, it was understandable. The emotional torture he received from his _dear_ mother was enough to unhinge anyone. Ritsuka never knew his parents, never knew of love from them, only of loneliness, hate, and abuse. For him, their death was the death of strangers.

But Ritsuka was not an emotionless child—he adored his elder brother, shined whenever Seimei was around. To Ritsuka, Seimei was the one and only family he ever truly had. When he was little, Ritsuka wept for the loneliness he could not understand, and the anguish felt deep within his heart. And it was Seimei that rescued him from the loneliness, the heartbreak, the abandonment, the sadness, the _sans amour_ he had always felt. Seimei was the knight in shining armour, Katsuko always thought, for the innocuous Ritsuka who never had a fairy-tale life.

And then Seimei died. And Ritsuka died. It was an oddity that Katsuko-sensei could not fathom, the drastic change in her favourite patient's persona. It disturbed her, but she always understood the ramifications of what would happen to Ritsuka's psyche were Seimei to die due to his illness. Ritsuka was alone again, utterly alone…but once again, someone stepped into his life, to rescue him from this burning nightmare.

The first impression that Katsuko had of Agatsuma Soubi was that he was a very queer man, simply bizarre in all his essence—his smile, his gaze, his odd politeness and insult at the same instance. Soubi was, in many ways, like Seimei, but much less of a puzzle to decipher. Soubi, the artist, the intellect, the mystery, was much less a mystery than he appeared. He was a pilgrim, though not of a religious sense. But he certainly was _searching_ for something, which would have ultimately led him to the Aoyagi _maison_, and thus led him to Ritsuka.

Katsuko has always understood Ritsuka's desire for escapism; she understood his hatred towards his _name_. This was perhaps the reason he so gravitated towards Ritsu-sensei, why he also gravitated to Soubi, they who were figures able to rescue him from the dim existence that he would be forced to bear in a few short years. Seimei knew this as well, which is perhaps why he chose Soubi to bear guardianship of his younger brother. Soubi would able to help Ritsuka escape, but keep him safe as well—care for him as how Seimei did. But even the enigmatic Aoyagi Seimei could not predict the unfolding events that would soon occur.

But Katsuko-sensei felt that brewing storm—because Soubi was an honest man, he would not betray his friend's wishes, and the family's traditions. He would not notice to save Ritsuka, for no matter how much Soubi seemed to care for Ritsuka, he could not fathom the boy's desire for freedom. But Ritsu-sensei could—he understood, and he would ultimately bring this delicious gift to his young obsession.

_Il y a un donner l' assaut à au delà de l'horizon._

The light haired doctor sighed heavily before blowing on her hands as the cold blistering winter wind wiped her with its vengeance. It would be a long night of festivities. She was early, and few of the guests had arrived. The Sun had not yet set beyond the country land. Ritsu-sensei, she had already been informed, had arrived a day prior to the events, meeting the new guardian of the estate.

The good doctor wondered how it went, the meeting between the two men—Soubi-kun and Ritsu-sensei. Katsuko shivered, and knew not of what was wrong. A storm brewed beyond the horizon, she saw, a frightening creature with limbs, and arms, and claws, and teeth. For a moment, she was frightened, but brushed it off as some bland woman's intuition. She never dared to trust her woman's intuition, but even so could not force the premonition away. This was one of those times she wished Seimei were still alive—the assuring figure, the constant factor of an equation, the single variable that goes unchanged. Seimei made no mistakes.

Agatsuma Soubi did well as host, welcoming his guests with the same calm stature as Seimei once did. It was an odd _déjà vu_ for Katsuko, entering the house to meet a new Master. She conversed a few words with Soubi, common words, nothing special. But Katsuko saw that he never paid a single moment of his attention to her—he was more focused on something else. Although his expression was normal, and did not see at all out of place, there was this agitated aura about him. The doctor looked at him hard, and saw in the reflection of his spherical spectacles, the image of the professor with his young student.

Katsuko turned, gazing in the same directing as Soubi. Smiling and laughing, children surrounded the clever professor, hearing of his new tales in his teachings abroad. The children sat all around, but Ritsuka alone sat on his lap. Katsuko saw, as Seimei would have often seen—the sensei's hand, gently caressing Ritsuka's shoulder, the insidious smile he implored at the boy, the licentious gaze his eyes reflected. It disturbed the good doctor.

And it disturbed Soubi as well.

_Il était étrange._

Since the beginning of the preparations for the gala, Ritsuka's mood had turned for the worst. He was often cold and distant towards Soubi, and nearly everyone in the House. But the moment he saw Ritsu-sensei, he brightened up considerably, and the azure-eyed man could not help but feel rather dejected. He did not wish to search too much into it, but it was impossible not to sense something odd about the whole affair. But Soubi had yet wanted to admit he was jealous.

The instant he met Ritsu-sensei, he did not like him. Seimei had mentioned before about this idiosyncratic professor who agitated him so, and Soubi felt the same, in a much different way. He felt threatened, as if, for the first time, he was forced to compete—Soubi was always best at everything he did, much like Seimei, so such a feeling he was not used to, or was he able to comprehend. But there was something ominous about the eccentric professor—to the silver haired artist; he was like a spider, a black widow almost.

Katsuko observed this as well.

And Katsuko had asked Soubi of his opinion of Ritsu-sensei. He seemed reluctant at first, but revealed his opinion—it was just like Seimei's, Katsuko thought, this bizarre distrust. She shared it as well. She knew something had to be done. Seimei was not here to command, and Soubi could not grasp what it was he knew was wrong, and Katsuko was the only one who seemed to sense this odd premonition.

That night, while Chopin played in the background, Katsuko took a moment to speak with Ritsuka. It was her duty, and she wanted this premonition away. She walked out into the terrace with the boy, staring off at the Moon. They were silent for many turns of the hand, and then, out of the blue, Katsuko-sensei spoke the warning Seimei was never able to offer.

_Stay away from Ritsu_.

The boy blinked at her curiously, and for a moment was quiet. Then, he asked, rather softly of the reason behind the sudden counsel, the tenseness the doctor radiated. Katsuko could not place her finger on it either, but knew it was what Seimei would have wished advised upon Ritsuka. Perhaps he was still too young to see the truth, but Katsuko believed, with Soubi at his side, it was time Ritsuka learnt the truth.

_He covets you._

_Il convoite pour vous._

Katsuko was surprised, not Ritsuka. Katsuko was shocked, not Ritsuka.

_Non, il est évident, est il pas, qu'il m'adore?_

The boy seemed unchanged by the revelation, almost as if it were the answer to a question he already knew. He spoke, ever so softly, how he had known all along. He has known what the professor felt for him, what the professor desire to do, what the good professor _wanted_. He had known it all along. He smiled bitterly. It was something his mother revealed a long time ago, the desires of the Flesh. It was perhaps why she loved Seimei more than him, he observed.

But the professor was dangerous, Katsuko wanted to say.

But the professor was not different from Soubi, that was what Ritsuka said. They are all the _same_.

The doctor turned to her young patient. A positively absurd smile lit up on his face. An absolutely childish smile. A haunting smile, a taunting smile, a smile Katsuko never thought would exist on such a pure and innocent face.

"I already have him…"

_Je le possède déjà._

_Il est le mien, et je suis son papillon. _

_I am his butterfly, but I have caught him_.

It was such a smile—the smile of his mother. The storm flashed lightening claws and broke through the Earth. The green mother shuddered fearfully, and went quiet once more. She waited for the fall of the raining, and the beginning of this frightfully long storm.

Katsuko covered her mouth, trembling. She wanted to scream.

The rain descended from the Heavens.

_L'histoire sinistre n'a pas une fin simple. _

_**Il est un 'love story' ennuyeux. N'écouterez-vous pas encore plus?**_

* * *

End Act IV

* * *

Author's Note:

Hello lovelies, I'm back! Finally…finally I am finished this Act. It took me so much longer than all the rest, because I couldn't decide what to do with it. So I ended up shifting between a lot of profiles, from Ritsuka's, to Katsuko's. (sigh) I actually finished this act back in October, but because I was focused on homework and my Angel Sanctuary saga, _The Bible_, I sorta shoved Loli aside. But hey, at least it's out.

Development wise, this is probably the most important chapter. I do suggest you translate the French, because it does begin to get really important. I would do it, but I'm too lazy. Sorry, but I really am very busy. You have no _idea_ how long and how much pain I went through to finish this chapter. And yes, that is as much dialogue you will ever get in this story.

Don't be weirded. I know the ending of this chapter is slightly…messed up, but it has a purpose. I hope you get the point—Ritsuka is _using_ Soubi. Get my drift? He's using Soubi to escape from his name—doesn't mean sweet Ritsuka isn't in love with Soubi. But it gets dangerous in the last chapter, and will reflect even more of the original tale of _Lolita_. Ritsu-sensei was really hard to write, and he is probably the best representation of Quilty. God, how I hated Quilty, even though I really like Ritsu-sensei.

Anyways, I hope you continue to read _Lolita_. The end will be a shocker! I promise you! Don't worry, it won't be a classic "Jia" type of ending. If you've read my stuff before, you can see the kind of style I have. (nervous laugh) I hate cliché happy endings, but this fic will have…kind of a happy ending. Kind of. But you just have to continue reading to see what happens. I promise nobody will die...actually, I really can't make that promise (especially for people who _know_ the ending of the real _Lolita_).

On another note, I am taking a temporary hiatus from writing to catch up on my real work...like my essays and my exams, which I must do well on if I ever want to write. Again. But, I will try to get the last bit of _Lolita_ out as soon as possible.

Well, thanks for reading, lovelies!

Wow…there is only one chapter left…and an epilogue…

_Jia Zhang_

* * *

© October, 2005 by Jia Zhang. All right reserved.

* * *


	5. Act V

**Lolita**

By Jia Zhang

Act V

* * *

_Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you a most inviting conclusion to a twisted love story, and the ending of the queer history of a House with many lies and many secrets. Exhibit number one is what the seraphs, the misinformed, simple, noble-winged seraphs, envied._

_I present to you butterflies on green leaves, dewdrops resting on lush grass, the lurid crimson of a sullen rose, and a tangle of thorns._

* * *

Agatsuma Soubi has always been known to be a very queer man, not quite ordinary, not quite extraordinary, but simply bizarre. Many were deeply astonished that such an accomplished man as Aoyagi Seimei would choose him to be the caretaker of not only the grand Aoyagi House, but also the guardian of the only Aoyagi remaining—a beautiful butterfly child named Ritsuka. Many questioned Seimei's choice of guardianship for Ritsuka, but no one said a word of objection—after all, it was Master Seimei's decree. He was always held so intelligent a man; aesthetic, talented, brilliant in all his right. Yet, he, so brilliant a man, should make such a terrible judgment so late in his ill-fated life. Perhaps it was his belief that Soubi _could_ protect Ritsuka that doomed his most lovely younger brother, or perhaps it was Seimei's belief that Ritsuka could do the impossible request of continuing something even Seimei despised.

Or perhaps, it was his belief that Ritsuka, a sweet and innocent child, who held a smile that burned more potent than the dazzling Sun, could ever hold a devious bone in his small, fragile body. Nonetheless, it was Seimei's choice and his mistake and his consequence; and thus, in his grave would he weep for the tragedy that unfolded six feet above.

Seimei was barely seven and forty-days when he met the infamous professor, Ritsu. His beloved brother was still a toddling infant of two, with cheeks of a button pink. Even from such a young age, Seimei was not a normal child, and later on in his life he would be described as having the body of Dionysian youth, and the mind of an ancient prophet; his intellect exceeded his age by nearly six decades, and so it would be that from a young age he found Ritsu-sensei to be a troubling man, and more or less the mirrored replica of his sinfully hateful mother. Seimei knew it would be futile that he should scorn Ritsu-sensei, or anyone in fact, but it did not make him any less vigilant about his friends and his enemies, for there was barely a wall erected between the two domains.

The eldest Aoyagi heir had met Ritsu-sensei a month before the family's annual Winter Gala (previously hosted by his wicked mother), when the good professor had come to visit. It had not been the first occasion where Ritsu-sensei should visit the Aoyagi manor, but it would be the prime juncture where Seimei _saw_ the be-spectacled, silver-haired man. He was often adorned in white—white suit, white shirt, white tie—he was the picture of an Angel fallen from Heaven, his eyes the deep blue of the distant sky, his hair the silver of the moon. He was beloved by as many as he was hated, but it was known to all that Mrs. Aoyagi had been _his_ most favourite of all people. At the time.

Ritsu-sensei always had the same task every rotation of the gala—he was a brilliant storyteller, and his travels in America and Europe provided a fascinating setting for his tales. Children adored this pretentious professor, loved him for his extravagancy and his tenderness. But Seimei always avoided Ritsu-sensei and the galas as much as he could (before he himself became its master and host); he would spend time in the manor's lusciously grand libraries, if his mother had not forced him to entertain the guests. Sometimes, if he could, he would sneak away to visit his darling little brother, read him a book, and put him to bed. Ritsuka's presence at the Winter Gala was never welcomed.

Ritsuka was six years of age when he was first allowed to see the gala; his elder brother had _insisted_ with his mother that he should at least _visit_ the gala. Ritsuka did not stay as long as the others that evening, but it would be the first time that he should meet the illustrious professor. Ritsu's first impression of the youngest Aoyagi child was much or less in the same circle as the thoughts of Ritsuka's future guardian, Soubi. He was held a magnificently beautiful child, with rich ebony hair, sparkling like blackened diamonds; his eyes were the shade of a tempting mauve, twin gems that were much more dazzling than whichever set of stones; his skin was softer than silk, and pale and pink as the bud of a cherry rose. Ritsuka was always a thing of beauty, a creature out of fables and myths holding this incomprehensible loveliness. It would be with one charming smile that Ritsuka trapped the idiosyncratic professor, just as he would ensnare Soubi in six years to come.

The be-spectacled teacher held Ritsuka as a prize, the most delicious of all the sinful fruits, and ripe for eating, his juices evermore sweet and his meat most tender. To those who chose to see, Ritsu always held the young boy with the most gentle affection, touching his shoulder or his hand so softly that it would seem an utterly innocent gesture of fondness. But of course, the sampling of any wildly luscious dessert would taint the mind and poison the senses, and so the good professor would come to desire more and more of the Pomegranate.

Perhaps the only person who ever noticed the licentious gaze of the professor was Seimei. He knew that gaze, was all too familiar with it, having his mother shower that look upon him like a ray of glittering coloured sequences. He was too familiar with the entrapment of that gaze, the poison of those desires, and the corruption of the body and the mind. He did not want his most innocently sweet brother to fall under the same disastrous consequences as he. Seimei always held Ritsu in a distant regard, and even after the death of his damned mother, he found that he was somehow unable to severe Ritsu from his brother's life. It was the only task that Seimei regretted in his life of having been done in vain.

And so, when he became ill, Seimei knew that he must find the right person to look after his beloved younger brother, and to be wary of Ritsu. Initially, he had chosen Doctor Katsuko as the guardian of Ritsuka, but knew that despite the doctor's tender love and honest care for his brother, she held no power or will that could spurn Ritsu's already potent influence on Ritsuka (which had been concreted during the legacy of his mother). Then, one day, he was reminded of his old school friend, Agatsuma Soubi, the very queer artist. Soubi was a rather sudden choice, chosen by Seimei only three days before his death, so the oldest Aoyagi had not recognized the jeopardy of the silver-haired artist being Ritsuka's guardian. Seimei did much to consider those who _should_ take care of his younger brother, but never did he consider how Ritsuka would influence _them_, for Seimei never knew the obscured metamorphosis of his younger brother.

It was this fault that Seimei would grieve of in his most humble home with the worms.

The night of Soubi's first Winter Gala, he met Ritsu-sensei in much the same manner as Seimei, with a handshake and an unsettling tumbling of butterflies in his stomach. The man sent inane shivers across Soubi's skin, a feeling he could not understand, but he knew, as Seimei had, that Ritsu-sensei was a troubling man, and one you could not trust. For the majority of the evening, Soubi did not take his eyes off the professor, and watched him with hawk eyes as he interacted with the guests. What made Soubi quake with loathing was the professor's relation with his beloved Ritsuka. His touches disturbed Soubi, but unlike Seimei, he could not comprehend the gaze in which the professor held Ritsuka in, and that was perhaps because Soubi held Ritsuka with the same set of eyes.

That evening, because of all the busy rustling of champagne glasses and people, the azure-eyed artist lost site of his young lover; from behind his spectacles he searched for the ebony haired boy, but could not find him—Ritsuka had diminished into the flood of people. For a moment Soubi began to worry that something may have happened to Ritsuka, for the last person whom Soubi had seen him with was a certain silver-haired professor. The artist gritted his teeth in anxiety, moving through the pool of bodies, desperately trying to locate twin gems of mauve. Suddenly, he saw past the velvet curtains of the gala to the terrace. He saw a trembling Doctor Katsuko on the floor, her hand held tightly over her mouth. Soubi felt his bleeding heart stop between his lungs at the sight of her—something was wickedly wrong. He rushed to the doctor's side, but she did not seem to notice his presence. Her eyes were glistened dewdrops, her breath was deep and haunting, her hands held firmly over her mouth. Those eyes did not leave the comfort of the floor, and finally, after a million seconds in time, Soubi chose to wake the doctor from her deluded nightmare.

"Katsuko-san?"

Katsuko looked up at him with a frightful shock, her eyes like that of a deer caught in the splendid trap of a violent automobile. She seemed as if she didn't recognize Soubi, her hands trembling over her mouth, her shoulders shuddering as if the Earth quaked beneath her. The sandy-haired doctor peered at Soubi with scrutiny, until suddenly, her eyes flashed with a laborious realization. She quickly stood up, looking around the terrace almost desperately, yet her whole body still shook with fright.

Soubi gazed at her queer behaviour. This was not normal. He had met Katsuko-sensei a few times over the course of his guardianship, for Ritsuka had always insisted that Soubi come along with him to his sessions. During the occasions where Soubi obeyed the child's incessant demands, Soubi had always found Katsuko to be a very unique woman, intelligent, perceptive and outspoken, and she was not one to be terrified so easily, as she appeared now in this state of near lunacy. The putrid stench of something fiendish flowed within the tepid evening air.

"Where's Ritsuka?" spoke the doctor, her voice anxious and alarmed. She suddenly stopped her haphazard rampage on the terrace to gaze at Soubi with a pair of troubled orbs.

"I'm sorry, Katsuko-san, but I was looking for him as well," Soubi replied calmly. "I saw him moments ago with Ritsu-san, but I seemed to have lost him amongst the crowd."

The blood drained from Katsuko's face till she was a pale manikin of white ash; she stood before Soubi, lifeless like a granite statue, but her eyes born a fear that Soubi had never seen in his life.

"W-what?" she said disbelievingly. "He's with Ritsu…?"

But before the azure-eyed man could speak, the good doctor lost her equilibrium and crashed against the stone floor beneath her and the sky rumbled and thunder up above her. Katsuko's whole body shook, her hands trembled and her eyes were filmed over with water. She lifted a tremulous hand to her mouth, and whispered haunting, "Seimei…you fool, you fool…"

"Katsuko-san?" questioned Soubi anxious, going down to his knees. "What's wrong? Is Ritsuka in trouble?"

A weak and pathetic smile danced on Katsuko's lips. "You fool, Seimei," she repeated, her head gave a violent motion of side to side, "you absolute fool. You fool, you fool of a man." She then turned with a poignant sloth towards Soubi, the smile never leaving her lips, but never touching her eyes. "You're having an affair with him aren't you?"

The inquiry shocked Soubi's bones with electricity. "Katsuko-san? What do you mean? I don't understand…"

It was so sudden that she came forth like the flash of a sharp samurai sword, her hands digging into the flesh of Soubi's arms. Her eyes bore such a desperation—an odd mixture of fear and anguish. "Don't lie to me, Soubi-kun, you're sleeping with him. With Ritsuka."

The sudden revelation crashed down from the sky against the Earth, breaking into the mold of mud and soil, cracking the already weak foundation. The glorious storm that brewed in the hazy, obscured part of a gray horizon split into the ground with a violent force no seraph or saint could ever hold against; and up in the folded covers of black, momentary explosions of white light flashed inside the womb of the storm. The rain would come soon, it would come soon and wash away all things both hideous and beautiful, and it would not care for those lovely butterflies on leaves. The thunderstorm would break open the sky, and smash little knives down on the world, and all that would be left in the morn is a sepulcher of butterfly bones amongst a lattice of thorns.

Agatsuma Soubi's body froze into an iceberg at her words, the violent electricity of fear coursing through his throbbing veins. But his tongue and his lips felt too much like concrete for them to move and articulate his apprehension and confusion at her disclosure. He did not wince as her nails dug half-moons of crimson into his flesh, nor he did cry out at the pressure her fingers exposed upon his bones. He stood silent before her, an immobile state of marble perfection. There was a scar in the stone.

"You're sleeping with him…" Katsuko continued without an answer. "I know you are; Ritsuka told me so. But he didn't even have to tell me. You're sleeping with him, and you don't even have the sagacity to keep him away from that sick bastard." She laughed pathetically. "Just like Seimei…you fool, you absolute fool."

"Katsuko-san…"

The pressure pounded on his brain.

"You have _no idea_, do you?" She laughed in a haunting, taunting, broken jester's voice. "You're were just as easily manipulated. But even Seimei couldn't _see_, and _God_, I had to _see_ it for myself!" She looked as if she would weep.

"Katsuko-san, you're not making any sense."

"I know you've been sleeping with that boy, I know." She gritted her teeth. "You _vile_…how could you? He's just a _child_! What would Seimei say? What would he _say_? You were supposed to protect him…" She lapsed into silence. "But you couldn't…Why?"

The azure eyed man looked at her painfully, and spoke to her honestly. "I love him."

She gazed back, with eyes of such evocative anguish. "You are a fool for doing so."

"How can you say that? I'm wrong for loving him, I know, but I am not a fool for loving him. He's all that I have been searching for, all that I have ever wanted to see, and I would die happy knowing I've met him and loved him."

"You fool…you absolute fool. Can't you _see_? You can't. Just like Seimei. Just like _him_."

The words crashed against his brain, and a convulsion of realization came forth into existence. Then, the world split in halves, and the pounding between his brains came to an astonishing halt. His eyes widened in not only recognition, but also a cruel fairytale understanding. He felt his world melt away like burnt cotton candy, the bits of pink fraying into the dirty earth of the carnival ground as raindrops of light danced in the ebony of the evening. Perhaps, far away, a jester with hand full of multi-coloured balloons boomed with frightful laughter as he outstretched his hand towards you, beckoning you into that disturbed wonderland. The carnival symphony sung a wicked tune, and you could not escape its gravity. As azure peered into brown, an eruption occurred.

Soubi brutally pushed Katsuko aside as he ran from the terrace. His stomach churned with nauseous comprehension. He swam through the ocean of bodies, his eyes burning from the sparkling chandelier fires and the crushing force of the mountain of voices and noises. The breath and the scream hitched in his throat and made a home; he could not breath, nor could he make sense of anything. The gleaming gala whirled before his eyes, a mesh of colours—bright gold, soft silver, and an ominous white. The music of the strings shrieked in trill, but was drowned in the imprudent laughter of the crowd. Amidst the confusion, the obscured visions, and the stabbing of his wretched, wretched heart, Soubi made his way through the crowd, fumbling, tumbling, nearly falling, but making his way from the grand room and into the infinite stretches of hallways, and the swirling vertigo staircases. He went up the layers of stairs, traveling inside a fantastic cake-world of icing and sweetness, up and up and down and up, through the labyrinth passageways of a blasphemous House, and up the levels of this impregnable catacomb. Only one pounding suggestion ringed inside his brain, and it became the sole cure for this incessant illness of the mind that festered at the corners of his mentality. He opened a thousand, thousand doors, and saw a thousand, thousand rooms—but all that lay before him were empty carcasses.

Then—

_Voici la porte!_

The final door, his own most sacrosanct asylum.

He touched the golden knob, and released a most vile reality.

"…Ritsuka."

A most beautiful creature stared back at the azure-eyed man, a thing of white porcelain skin, and supple ebony hair, and it was so fragile a thing that it seemed as if it would shatter into a million, million pieces if it were ever touched. A pair of wide, exquisite mauve jewels stared at Soubi in odd curiousity. Aoyagi Ritsuka stood in the vast room; standing in nothing but an exceedingly outsized white shirt, touching the edges of his hips, the sleeves reaching over his hands. And he stared at Soubi, with only a peculiar interest, but he was neither startled by his sudden invitation into the room, nor was he shy about the state of his dress. He simply stood there, motionless, one hand held up against one of the soft pallet of colours of Soubi's many paintings.

"Soubi…"

The single word emitted from his mouth sent the azure-eyed man into a dazed frenzy. He grabbed the boy roughly, flinging him onto the bed. Ritsuka did not speak; only quietly giggle as his body fell upon the bed. Soubi pinned him down, pressing his body against the boy, running a hand between his smooth, tender legs. A small moan and a small laugh irrupted from Ritsuka as Soubi felt within him; the pale, translucent ivory lapped on his hand, still warm and fresh, smelling of something poisonous and wicked. Soubi's eyes widened in realization as he gazed down at his small lover. His wretched heart convulsed at the painful comprehension.

"Why…" he asked, his voice nearly broken, haunted, tormented that he could barely speak.

And Ritsuka smiled a little smile, a dazzlingly beautiful smile, timid, yet knowing, innocent, yet holding this forbidden guile; and he reached up, brushing the silver from Soubi's tortured orbs, planting a butterfly kiss upon his lips.

"He promised to take me away," he spoke. "He promised he would take me away from here. I asked you to, but you wouldn't. Just like Seimei. I need to get away, I have to fly away. I can't stay here, I can't, and I won't. I have to leave Soubi, I have to go. I can't stay in this House any longer—I'll die, and you're not strong enough to take me away."

"I love you…"

He smiled. "I know, and perhaps if it weren't for this place, weren't for my mother, I would have loved you as I should have."

Azure stones narrowed in quaking anguish. "Did you care at all? Did you ever love me?" He slipped his fingers inside, feeling the softness and the warmth of the flesh.

Ritsuka moaned gently, reached up to take the man's face in his hands, kissing him cruelly tender. "Ah—you are my everything…Ah! But…but even with that, I have to leave, and you won't let me. I'm not just your butterfly; I can't be your pinned little prize. He promised to take me away, to America, or France, and…Ah! Ah! I need to leave. I hate this place, I've always hated this place, and my hatred is so much stronger than my love. For…hn…so long, mother's trapped me here, inside this delirious tomb. I have to escape this House, this name…Hn, ah…Seimei…expected me to follow in his footsteps, but I won't. He promised to take me away…he promised to let me be free…"

He gasped for air, his small body shuddering from pleasure as he was entered and filled. "…Soubi?"

"I won't let him take you. I won't."

"Ah! Ah! Y-You can't! Hn…"

Soubi kissed him on the mouth, and the eyes, and his cheeks, before whispering so softly in his ear. "I'm sorry. I won't let you go."

_Je t'aime._

_Je t'aime._

_Je t'aime._

_Je t'aime, mon beau papillon._

_Mon lolita précieux. _

He tilted his hips, and slowly thrust into the boy with a haunting rhythmic beat as a tumbling of wonderfully immature noises sang from the child's lips. Ritsuka gasped for air, for comfort, for stillness, for assurance, for love—he grabbed onto Soubi's shirt, his small hands digging into the fabric. The kisses were maddening and frantic, ecstatic desires that the body could no more be a weir against or fill this obscured wanting. There was pain, and love, and pain, and love, and the most delicious part of a ripened fruit, the juices flowing against the tongue and the lips with a wicked sensation, saturating all the blood of the veins that coursed so powerfully through the body. The pleasure was not pleasure alone, but a tormented fight of two lovers, entangled and trapped in their own wonderfully farcical affair. In this moment of pleasure and pain and flesh and desire, they fought with need of possession, of escape, of the most obscured part of their mad rapport. Soubi kissed his small lover passionately, opening his mouth to taste all of him; he gently moved inside, hearing the desperate moans of the boy as his hands grabbed onto his arms.

What was becoming of them? Their love had frayed away, burnt into precious silver embers by their own incorrigibility.

Shall they die now, in their most licentiously enchanting moment, and drown in that night forever?

No, no…_Non, non, mon amour_. The story is not that simple.

_Voici l'objet exposé le numéro deux._

Exhibit number two; a madman's notions can only lead to disaster, and all the world is a stage for the fabulous tragedy to unfold in a five act play. There is the naïve jester, the troubled history of a troubled ghost, the most beautiful of all lovely butterflies, and the sullen hero, who carries a bloody sword within his heart, which only his most exquisite lover can repress. Of course, all this is hidden away in the setting of a marvelously historical manor, a deliriously beautiful place, with as much lies as there are maids and hands. Was a Shakespearean tale introduced? No, dear love, just a simple tragedy, and tragedies are right as rain, and just as often, for it is in humanity to be tragic, pathetic, lethargic, idiosyncratic, and most of all!—_eclectic_.

Such is the sin of being human.

And so, our fevered hero continues his descend into a most tragic state of affairs.

* * *

In his quiet blue room, folded white clothes littered the four-poster bed and Victorian chairs as Ritsu prepared for his departure from the grand gala. The guest were downstairs, dancing their macabre waltz to the sound of a haunting melody; but Ritsu-sensei hurried for his escape and kidnap of a beautiful butterfly child, and the anticipation of that exodus was eating away at his fortitude like some disastrous infection that rotted the flesh. Quickly, quickly, his movements waltzing to the music; he gathered his things, placing them scrupulously into the black leather cases; the good professor's mind was clear, but disarrayed with passion for a fruit he only moments ago had swallowed whole and enjoyed thoroughly. But this was not a time for the rekindling of that chapter of possession, obsession and passion, where the libido consumed the ego, as Freud would say, and the blasphemous desires of the flesh became all too unbearable; this was not a time for memorabilia—it was a time for action, to act and move so quickly, to disappear and fade into anonymity with that exquisite, porcelain boy before it was noticed by anyone. He must be careful; he must be swift.

That azure-eyed guardian would not emancipate him so effortlessly (and then there was that god forsaken psychiatrist); Ritsu knew this, understood this, for he himself would never _gratis_ that child with the alabaster skin—he was much too expensive a doll to just be given away. Azure stones were too much like sapphire gems, after all.

The White One pauses for a moment, his deep, sapphire eyes peering at a few chronicles of papers and notes he had jotted down on paper—poetry, lyrics, sonnets, and other assortments from the grotto of his mind. The professor felt the fabric of paper beneath his fingertips, the rough and smooth textured skin and contrast of black ink against white. Behind his ears, the sound of Giuseppe Tartini's _Devil's Trill_ resonated through the thick, white plaster walls. The music trembled vehemently, with a cruel ardor that was nearly incomprehensible, quaking every bone within Ritsu's body, sending his blood pulsing through his veins.

Then—the music got louder. And a door opened; Hamlet wanted his revenge—the beginnings of a tragedy was set.

Ritsu turned.

"Ah. Soubi-kun." He smiled rather sardonically. "How nice to see you."

The man did not say anything.

"Care for a smoke?" he asked nonchalantly; he patted his pockets, and prepared to turn away to the suitcase to fetch a little smoking gun.

"Down!" Soubi suddenly shouted, the abrupt command shocking Ritsu-sensei onto the bed. He sat there, amused, bemused, staring at Soubi carefully.

"You need not roar at me, Soubi-kun. Just wanted a smoke. Dying for a smoke."

"You're dying, anyways."

Ritsu laughed, his voice ringing as he got up nonchalantly, "You really are beginning to bore me, Soubi-kun, and I've always thought you a fascinating man from what Ritsuka has told me. None the matter. Let's see—" He continued fretting over the packaging of the assortment of clothes. He noticed the dark little weapon lying inside Soubi's palm, a gift of ascension to the gods.

"You're kidnapping him."

"I am not! You're all wet. I'm saving him from a beastly pervert. I am not responsible for the rape of others. Absurd. Oh, but that joy ride!—he shall love Paris, wonderfully magnificent city. _Vous voilà dans de beaux draps, mon vieux._" He shuffled his clothing into his case.

"You took advantage."

"Pardon?"

"Because you took advantage of a sinner  
because you took advantage  
because you took  
because you took advantage of my disadvantage…"

The further shuffling of papers and clothes, and clothes and papers, and the tumbling and rolling.

"That's good, you know. Very good, verse, always verse, prosaic, well done."

"…when I stood Adam-naked  
because you took advantage of a sin  
when I was helpless moulting moist and tender  
hoping for the best  
dreaming of marriage in a mountain state  
aye of a litter of butterflies."

"Yes, well done, grand stuff! You're best poem, as far as I'm concerned."

"Because you took advantage of my inner  
essential innocence  
because you cheated me—  
Because you cheated me of my redemption  
because you took him, waxed-eyed,  
bejeweled thing of envy and spite,  
playing with a flock of _papillon_ in a field  
of awfulness of love and violets  
remorse and despair, while you  
tore a dull doll to pieces  
and threw its head away  
casting a broken, fangled thing into  
the fringes of obscurity  
because of all you did  
because of all I did not  
you have to die…" (1)

The dark little demon saw light; the bloody sword within his heart stood erect, poised to invite itself into the flesh of the enemy.

"You have to die."

_Feu_. They attacked each other, their bodies struggling for domination over that black little monster, rolling along the ground, around and around as if the room spiraled like a mad carousel while downstairs remained a fervent carousal, the violins shrieking of the Devil's trilled symphony, and they tumbled and fumbled, and roused and hurled themselves at each other like animals, desperate for dominance, for control and lack of control of control, rolling over one another like two large, helpless children, playing some deluded game; and he rolled over him, and he rolled over him, and they rolled over him, and he rolled over them, and they rolled over them.

Soubi grabbed the black weapon, lunging away from Ritsu. The two men stood before one another; staring at their reflections. One mirror smiled, and broke, while the other stood so casually still—and thunder boomed! And bang! The world burst—the gun exploded, and blood was flung onto the bleached, alabaster walls, staining hues of red and pink and strawberry, and that crimson liquor gushed like a flood upon the carpet, pouring into a large ocean of red dye. And bang!—another shot, into the flesh and the chest, and reality stood still, and yet another bang!—and the blood soaked the ground, and inundated around the azure-man, he who stood silent and still with that black demon in his hand as the room was dissolved into that hideous red colour.

Time became a specter, and sound became a disillusioned dream. The gun burned with a fanatical array of gray smoke; and Soubi stared, stuck between a rock and reality, unsure if the bleeding, dying man before him was really real, was truly real and not a fabrication of his own insanity—yes, yes, it was truly a man, a real man, whose blood hemorrhaged from his lungs, that crude liquid performing an asphyxiation on the last remains of the good professor's soul. And slowly, slowly, Soubi watched, that handsome weapon in his hands, the blood staining his cheeks—and he watched that man, that honest and real man, die.

Soubi watched as Soubi died.

_La mort d'un miroir. _

* * *

_Écoutez…_

_Écoutez…_

…_vous entendez ce symphonie tragique?_

_Il blesse._

_Oh, mon papillon…how your wings are charred black, how you lay in the dust of the catacombs of this wretched romance._

All over the floor was the blood of a dead man—that gruesome colour painting a grotesque portrait on the carpet, a twisted tale of lust and wanting. Soubi sat upon the stained carpet ground, that perverse black demon still humming of heat from the solitary bullet that was given birth to; his back was juxtaposed against the silken wall with an enervated ease; his azure eyes gazed at the blood, at all that ocean of red, with a disheartening gaze. He felt numb, his ears still unable to recognize any vibrations of sound or noise—far in the distance, he would image, the shrill of the violins singing its mad macabre sonata, the people dancing and waltzing and twirling and spiraling at the command of the violin's bow. Downstairs was a world that he was utterly removed from; the downstairs party was a whole other dimension, with Mad Hatters, Queens with an iron heart, and Cheshire cats that never smiled. It was a wonderland he would never belong to again. His fingers moved to feel the warm skin of the gun, his hands and limbs tremulous, his eyes fixed on the image of the pale cadaver before him; Ritsu's blood had drained till there was no longer a drop remaining in his heart or veins, till he was a mere manikin of flesh and bones. The room smelled of a putrid odor of copper and something burning, and the air held the dangerous ferocity of something ancient and reptilian, so primal with need and lust and control. But in the end, it was all a lie, a dream, a fairytale, with no possible happy ending—it was a tragic farce, put on as a Shakespearean drama for all those who have eyes, in a five act play. There was no knight in gleaming armour of silver, no princess in a dainty red gown, no jester full of smiles—only a wicked, wicked mother with a heart as black as shadows. It was all just a tragedy, played on human affection—inside a house with many lies and many secrets.

"What have you done?"

There came the voice of a child, a charming _papillon_ child; and he was so lovely a thing that he seemed so fragile, so pure, so utterly, utterly innocent, like a snowy dove inside a hail storm of gray hues and black thunder—a thing of alabaster skin, ebony hair, and mauve jeweled eyes, who's heart was so marred by cruelty that it was nearly unrecognizable. Standing so small and delicate, Ritsuka placed a pallid hand onto Soubi's trembling shoulder. The man did not look up, and continue to gaze almost dispassionately passionately at the dead thing lying on the floor. The child brushed the silver strands of hair away from azure eyes, and leaned down to place a soft kiss upon the man's cheek; his task was over, the kiss spoke in a haunting whisper, the task over, and there was nothing left to do.

"What have you done…"

_Le fou…le fou…_

_You fool, you fool, you fool of man._

_Imbécile_.

_Un imbécile dans l'amour._

A kiss on the lips, soft, tender.

"What have you done."

Soubi pulls the boy into his arms, leaning his head against the soft ebony hair that smelled of jasmine and lavender. He holds him close, holds him tight, afraid that if he should ever let go he'd shatter into a million, million pieces of stained colour glass. That black reptilian monster drops to the ground with a quiet sound, and then fades into obscurity; it does not exist now, it no longer exists; it has done its charge. Soubi tenderly holds Ritsuka in his arms, his hand gently feeling the boy's smooth velvet skin; he looks down upon him, confused, dazed, an utterly lifeless man.

"I couldn't let him take you."

"I know."

"I'm sorry…I love you."

"I know."

Silence thundered in that little revered colonnade of paintings; the pallets of art all arranged absentmindedly around the generous, Victorian room. Some held the downy textures of landscapes and flowers and greens of grass and rush; some held the picture of Heaven, of gold and silver gates bejeweled with sapphire and rubies, and all the dreams of a generation long lost to the specter of Time; some held the colour of a boy, a beautiful child of twelve rotations, whose image in those paintings was the mere silhouette of who he had become. But none of those canvases were worth any magnitude of importance, not anymore and possibly never more; soon, they would be hurled audaciously into the burning flame of the hearth, the colours fraying into bits of blackened ash. They would, in an infectious memory, speak of an imaginary time of a bravura affair between a man and the object of his obsession and adoration.

"They'll find this soon," speaks the painter. "They'll find this, and I will be thrown into some abysmal jail." He smiles bitterly, stroking the boy's hair. "I'll never be able to come back; you'll have to do what your name has always wanted of you. What this house has always wanted of you, my love."

Ritsuka turns to him hurriedly, gazing passionately, his eyes full of zeal and sorrow. "Then take me away! Take me, and leave this place—" He gestures with his arms the disaster that whirled around them like a bizarre kaleidoscope. He reaches up and kisses Soubi on the lips. "Let's leave here. There's nothing stopping us, no one to stop us. Let's leave, go, and never return."

Soubi shook his head. "We can't. They'll find us; and they'll take you away from me."

"But if we don't leave, they'll find us here! What can we do but run? What?"

Soubi is silent. "I don't know."

For a moment, they held unto each other, suspended within a dizzying vertigo of uncertainty and despair; and for what seemed like a perpetual subsistence in time, they existed inside each other's arms, because there was no other exit from this impossible labyrinth. But even eternity does not, could not last forever. Ritsuka turns to his older lover, gazing up at him monotonously; and then he kisses him, softly at first, then deeper and further, opening his mouth, his frail hand reaching up to gently touch Soubi's cheek. The azure eyed man embraces his small lover, kissing his supple lips, and down along his jaw, his tongue lapping at the soft skin of his neck, his nostrils heavy with the rich scent of lavender and jasmine perfumes. And then there was a boom, a thunderous sharp cry—Soubi was abruptly lost of oxygen in his lungs. A sudden, acute and intense spasm of pain coursed through his body; he shuddered profusely, his movements gradually coming to halt. He holds the boy in his stone arms, heavy from the pain in his body, and he lifts his head to gaze into the sorrowful eyes of his beloved. Ritsuka looked to him in grievance, in sadness and apology; and that was when Soubi felt the stinging coldness of metal against his bare and raw skin where the tiny projectile of metallic cut through his flesh—the blood drained from the wound and unto his clothes, soaking the two in a pool of cherry liquor that poured lavishly onto the ground.

"Why?"

"C'est la seule chose que je peux faire pour nous d'etre ensemble"

_Because this was all I can do for us to be together._

The last image that Soubi ever saw before he was engulf in a shroud of infinite darkness was the sight of his beautiful butterfly smiling, the smell of his hair, black as the ebony ribbons and sweet as jasmine, the colour of his velvet skin an endearing porcelain white and pink as a rose, the shine of his bejeweled eyes twin gems of amethyst. There—he had found it, the most exquisite of all things, a magnificent beauty that was incomparable; and he was so _happy_. Then, there was nothing—only darkness.

_I am thinking of aurochs and angels, the secret of durable pigments, prophetic sonnets, and the refuge of art. _

…_and this, my love, is the only immortality you and I may share._

* * *

fin

* * *

**Author's Note:**

My wasn't that vague and depressing? (dies) There, my darlings, is the ending of the tragedy of _Lolita_. (cries and goes to kill herself) After months of writing, and writing, and struggling with what I was writing, I'm finally done. _Lolita_ has unconsciously turned out to be one of the best fics I've yet to write; a gathering of language and passion into a grotesquely beautiful story. (Gawd am I an egotistical bastard or what? Need to stop priding myself on how I well I wrote this) But overall, I am very happy with how this ended. (dies some more) Though this is concisely the ending of the five acts, however, there will be an Epilogue. A very important epilogue and it will tell what the hell exactly happened to Ritsuka and Soubi afterwards.

Err…and if the writing was too vague for you, yes…Ritsuka just shot Soubi. (coughs)

(runs around like an insane person) But YAY! I'm done! (grooves to random J-pop music) The story, as an entirety, ends here; however, I will wrap it up nicely, like how Shakespeare wraps up his plays with a recount of all the events that have happened. So, you'll just have to wait for the epilogue to find out what happened! XD

The reason I decided to end it this way is because…

1) The original story of Lolita had both Humbert Humbert (Soubi's character) and Lolita (Ritsuka) dying—H.H. died in jail after killing Quilty (Ritsu), while Lolita, also known as Dolores F. Schiller died in childbirth after getting married to some other guy that definitely was not H.H. I wanted Soubi and Ritsuka to be together "in the end" because Lolita and H.H. never got to be together in the end; since, although Lolita felt something for H.H., she also holds a lot of resentment towards him. She also loved Q more than H.H., and that always disturbed me. I hated Q. Just plain hated him. Thus, I had to work around that somehow, because Ritsuka obviously loves Soubi more than Ritsu, though he also holds a bit of resentment towards Soubi, but for different reasons than Lolita. Although my _Lolita_ is based off of Vladimir Nabokov's novel, I had to re-invent it into my own story, thus is why you got the ending you got.

2) Although I had initially promised a happy ending, I found I could not be true to myself or my writing style if I did not write it the way I wanted it to go. I have always intended it to end rather positively, but I would not be true to the original intent of the story, even some what, if I did not add some tragedy into it. Originally, Act V was supposed to have Soubi kill Ritsu and had Soubi burn down the manor and whisk Ritsuka away—but in the end, I found that too conflicting, too cliché, and too weird, and I didn't like it. So I changed it.

3) I like tragedy. I like angst. Lolita + Loveless tragic angst! Besides…this allows more room for me to screw around with the epilogue.

(does the hypnotized eyes thingy) _Epilogue…important…very much so…read epilogue…_

There was also something I noticed extremely important that I did not realized till I re-read the entire story: Seimei and Ritsuka's mother was suffering from MAJOR post-pardom depression, which is probably why she hated Ritsuka so much; she also held a lot of other psychological problems; hence why she was the way she was towards her two sons.

Anyways, a couple more notes of importance. There is a lot of play on words in this fic, especially the phrase "carousel and carousal" (which you should look up to see why they are a play on words). The poem in the story, which had a foot note by it (1), is a variation of the original poem that H.H. read to Q before he shot him in the novel, so I thought it would be appropriate that Soubi says this to Ritsu before he shoots him. This chapter also had predominately less French than all the rest, because it would have deterred and lessened the effect of the story. I ended up doing a lot of variations of excerpts from _Lolita_ the book, like the opening first lines, and the end. It's a truly brilliant novel, _Lolita _by Vladimir Nabokov, and everyone should read it just for the writing alone. As you can probably tell, I loved this book. The writing was beautiful, brilliant. I'm _so_ Nabokovian in the way I write, and studied his style quite extensively. Good book; go read.

I would also like to thank my beta, K-chan, and my long time editor, Tsubasa-neechan, for their generous support and arse-kicking for me to finish this fic, and of course, for the patience of my readers. And to my nee-chan: congratulations on your baby. I dedicate this fic to you, since you're the one who introduce me to Nabokov in the first place. I would also like to give a big thank you to Pandarosi, for doing a fanart of the rocking chair scene that totally made me want to finish this faster. And to all my readers, you **_ROCK_**! (glomps you all) Thank you all so much! I would not have finished this were it not for your support! (glomps some more)

Anyways, I think that is enough rambling for now. My, this is definitely the longest chapter of Loli. Hope you enjoyed this story! All your comments and questions are welcomed! And read the Epilogue when it comes out! (Hopefully soon!)

(And this is where Jia will advertise that people should check out a couple of her original short stories, such as _Confessions of a Murder_, which is a story that has been described as a meeting between Dahmer and _Famous Last Words_, as well as _M O N S T E R_, the most disturbing story she has ever written—all of which are available on her Livejournal. Much thanks, lovelies…)

(bows) Thank you for reading everyone!

_Jia Zhang_

* * *

© January, 2006 by Jia Zhang. All rights reserved.

* * *


	6. Epilogue

**Lolita**

Written by Jia Zhang

Epilogue 

* * *

_  
And so, a fantastical tragedy ends with an utmost painful closing of red velvet curtains, and the dimming of lights of that particularly dazzling grand theatre of jesters and balloons concludes this ridiculous show of Shakespearean farce. Here we are, the beholders of this queer legend, this wonderfully mad love story—we, who are the wingless spectators, gazing up unto a stage of players in gem-like costumes with marble features; they are the whispers of our dreams, our most hidden and sacrosanct imaginations, and we, in our plush seats of crimson fabric, our brains all combusted and pigmented by that most ludicrous performance, cannot help but make rivers of tears._

_We did not receive on a silver platter our fairy-tale ending, because we always imagine the structure of this mundane everyday life to be as preciously perfect as that brilliant tragedy upon on that world stage. Someone, somewhere, some day (that was not recorded) said this—all the world's a stage for a fantastic tragedy to be preformed in a fic act play. It was a certain play on words of the phrase of a great writer's sonata sonnet, but it carries much of weight. We expect everything to end in that most cliché hero's arc, because it makes life so much more predictable and safe—but it is never like that. The knight is always too late to save the damsel, and the princess was never quite as innocent as one perceived, and all the while we believe the prince to be so pure of heart, but all he's got is his own agendas. _

_Ha. We all play this farcical game of perpetual pretend, spinning into motion this inordinately predictable inertia; but in the end, this cruel veracity is what embraces us so feverishly. _

_We cannot escape that mounting and ever so potent, ever so dazzling and mystifying tragedy—for it is in humanity to be tragic, to be farcical and ever, ever so pathetic. Tragedy is immortal, after all—it transcends time and all the ages of arts, because we love it as much as it makes us weep._

_And so, all that is left is for reality to amuse itself in our pity, because reality does not offer any comfort. It is a cold, absolutely cruel teacher._

_And in a far away place, there is a weeping child, who watches all the angels consorting with the cherubs up in a glossy ceiling sky, who weeps for the lost, buried arcane arts of some queer naissance, who shares an undeniable immortality in this perverse, tragic love story._

_That, dear reader, is the ending I leave you._

* * *

"…that, dear reader, is the ending I leave you."

They were alone, two figures drenched in élan ebony, standing on a mounted hill of opulent emerald, buried deep amid the vale of a charming little mortuary. All around were the sepulcher of those who loved and were loved once upon a midsummer's night, but were now austerely sharing a dwelling with worms between the cake-layers of soil six feet under. The ghosts of this peculiar cemetery watched them in absolute fascination, this boy and this girl—amethyst and amber, shadowing one another—whether or not they perceived the vigilant gaze of these impalpable, translucent specters is a mystery to all others but them and those most formidable spirits. Their eyes were paralleled to one another, mirroring this bizarre reflection in their precious stones—they were silent, not unsure of what they should speak of in this most humble home of the expired; no, they were emphatically basking in each other's presence—this boy and this girl.

He was a beautiful boy of no older than fifteen rotations of a little blue planet; his eyes were made of lush, amethyst gems, glinting a divine hue of violet underneath the intoxicating rays of the bright orb of the Sky. His skin was a clear, soft alabaster, and smooth like the petals of a tulip, and his cheeks hinted of a sweet, summertime rose—he was darling flower child. His hair was a glossy black, dark as the deepest bowels of the universe, and glistened more spectacularly than all the be-jeweled stars. His small frame was covered in clean, black fabric—a simple suit and simple tie. He gazed at the other with a mild curiousity, not of confusion or sudden astonishment—just a cat's curious gaze. In his arms, he carried a mountain of white lilies.

She was a charming young woman, in the prime of her ageless youth. She held eyes of a dazzling gold—amber when lit by flames of fire or a secret luminosity; glittering and sparkling of a devious and jester nature. Her skin was appropriately tanned, glowing and soft as porcelain, and her lips was the tender pink of a flower's bud. Her hair was the alluring colour of the ocean, long and flowing like water, tied in unchildishly childish dual ponytails. She wore an enticing little black dress, with the hem of the costume touching the smooth skin of her thigh. It was fashioned in an old, Victorian panache, with a black shirt, and an elegant ebony corset coupled around her waist and bosom. She peered at the boy before her with a mild sardonic grin, waiting, waiting, with a Mad Hatter's allure.

Together, they stood beneath a verdant, green Maple tree, and at the base of its fingered-roots a cool, marble tombstone was entrenched in the emerald of the grass. They stood, waiting, quite, quivering in the silence.

"That, dear reader, is the ending I leave you," speaks the woman. She smiles. "Very interesting ending, Ritsuka-kun."

The boy remains silent, before turning back to the graven catacomb in the earth.

"What brings you here, Nagisa-san?"

She smiles a little smile, a devious, foxy smile that told nothing and everything in volumes.

"Something of the other."

"Here to greet the dead?"

She laughs. "Rather, taunt the dead."

The boy says nothing.

"I'm here to see my old love and enemy in his domicile with worms and maggots. I'm sure he'd sent you his greetings, Ritsuka, love."

The boy says nothing.

The woman continues. "I finished this little _novella_ of yours just this morning. I quite enjoyed it. A remarkable little Shakespearean tragedy in a new-century world. I liked your narrator—he was most…admirable. Was he based on real life? I shudder to hope so."

"I'm glad you enjoyed it."

"Oh! Darling! I enjoyed it more than you can imagine, dear Ritsuka-kun. A little bias on your part and my part, of course, so there is a variation of opinion on certain…plot twists in your extravagant little story, but nonetheless, love, it was very, very good." She smiles that Mad Hatter's smile. "Now what possibly could have spurned that piece of…_fiction_? Hmmm?" She is absolute in her sarcasm.

The boy says nothing. His amethyst eyes were focused solely on the marble piece of eternal stone—he was silent, unsure, yet sure of what he should say and needed to say, not to absolve and apologize to this man eaten up by Earth, but to emancipate his own most tortured spirit. There was much he needed to repent—in order to escape from a dilapidated and outdated Hellish imprisonment, he did all he had to do, and hurt many along the way, and forced some to depart into the Heavens before their time. And he did regret, this boy, regret so much in his heart of things he had so carelessly done—for he was scared, so very scared, of being trapped by that monstrous and blasphemous House of lies. When he formulated this devious plan, he had no recognition of the anguish and misery he would inflict upon all those he loved. He was a foolish child, he divulged, an imprudent and ever so selfish child of sinful beauty, who masqueraded as an altruistic saint with amethyst jewels for eyes. He pretended, and soon the mask became all too much another layer to his skin—his most outer self of fabrication became his strange inner veracity—he had become a mime with a painted facade of black and white.

He had done too much harm—he had things he had to say.

He had so much to say, but his voice would not formulate the words he wanted spoken.

"So quiet, too quiet," quipped the woman.

He did not want her here—of all people!

"Why did you do it? Trick and charm so many, leading them inside this womb of lies, and destroying them all to alleviate your selfish desires?" she spoke condescendingly. "So many things are your fault…I'm not even sure where I should begin."

"Are you just here to reprimand me?" spoke the boy.

She pauses for moment. "No. As I've said before, I'm here to visit a friend."

"Hypocrite."

"Everything I speak is true, except for the lies." A Cheshire cat grin sparkles on her lovely features, but it slowly frays away into obscurity. She drowns into a murky hush; the air was thick of this bleeding silence. "Why did you write that novel, Ritsuka? For the love of God! You could've let it end! All that simple, but you drone it on and on, like some silly child playing a silly game! It's not a game!" She curses angrily and cynically, whisperingly, her voice barely audible.

"Do you hate me?"

She glares at his small back. "Of course not. I wouldn't hate you. I'm annoyed, but I don't hate you. God knows Ritsu deserved everything that happened to him. But—" She curses again, her breath low and haunting. "You selfish, little brat."

"I'm sorry."

"Why are you apologizing to _me_? Two dead men are lying at your footsteps; they are whom you should be apologizing to, not me, love; I don't care for all that nonsense about redemption and repentance and forgiveness. Bullshit. I'll never forgive Ritsu, that bastard. As much as I love, I hate him, I loathe him, I adore him, and I am absolutely repulsed by him. He meant everything, and I couldn't stand him." She brings a hand up to her cheek and grins most artfully. "A paradox is our relation to one another." She gazes at the boy before her, whom solemnly stood before that rock of marble perfection. "Do you love him? Did you ever love him?"

She watched the boy nod.

"You did a cruel thing, you did."

"I know."

"Makes me wonder why he loves you."

"I know."

"He probably loves you for what he believe to be an innocent boy, a beautifully innocent boy, but oh, men in love are often the most easily deceived." She smiled contemptuously. "And you are such a brilliant liar—you take after your mother more than you know, not just in looks."

The boy is silent.

She laughs. "Did I offend thee, fair Juliet?" She laughs a serpent's laugh. "Goodness, goodness, I am being a bit crude. I've completely gone off on a tangent. But of course, I did not come here just to visit that damned and brilliant love of mine in his gracious grave." She grins shrewdly. "…_that, my dear reader, is the ending I leave you_. Now why in the bloody hell did you write that?"

The boy is silent

"…I read it in a place once. My brother's journals. It was his last. He wrote a fascinating tale of truth and lies, and hands and maids, and all the dark things I grew up with but could not word into sentences and make real because I feared it too much. They meant a lot to me. They changed me…in a way I shall never quite understand. I love my brother; I love him dearly—but I also despise him, for transforming me into this person. Sometimes, I think I hate him as much as I did my mother, but those thoughts are always brief, and never lingering. What he wrote, what he told, to no one, not me, or the world—it changed me. Perhaps it was then that I formulated this design to escape from that damned House. It was all I could do, to do what he never could, to do what I wanted but couldn't understand. I am thankful to him for that. I hate what I did, but I did it, and I do not regret it and would not alter any of the actions I took. It was all I could to escape from that place. It was as much of a gift—this queer little novel of mind—for my brother as it was for _him_. I think he began to revert me. Little by little, but not enough."

Slowly, gingerly, the boy placed the bed of white lilies onto the skin of the stone monument beneath the everlasting green tree.

"I'm sorry," he whispered at last, to the grave, to the tree, to man lying six feet under, whom he loved, and whom he hated.

The woman smiled, shaking her aquatic head in humorous jest. It was all too funny. "You silly little boy," she laughed honestly. "He's waiting for you by the car. You should meet him."

The boy turns to her, his bright amethyst eyes glittering under the luminosity of the blazing star in the sky. "And you, Nagisa-san?"

"I'll stay a little," she smiled. "I'll talk to you soon, Ritsuka-_kun_."

The boy gave a petite smile, and went on his way, past the hills of green, past all the ghosts and specters, and all the shadows and dark things, and all those little unheard secrets of the damned and forgotten. He leaves behind a name he never loved, a House that burned to cinders, a responsibility that decayed into ruins, and the memoirs of a un-fairytale childhood. He leaves behind all the things he did, and all the things he will ever do. He leaves behind a ploy, and its successes. He leaves behind all the things that made him a lie, and he walks into the Sun, into the light and away from all the shadowy closets of his childhood. And so, he leaves behind all the things he ever feared.

The woman watched as that bright, brilliant, beautiful child frayed from her view; she turned to the grave stone, and smiled at the man sleeping under the six layers of soil, in his gracious house with the worms.

_Aoyagi Seimei  
__1988-2005  
__Beloved son, brother and friend_

"_Look at this tangle of thorns."_

The woman laughed and smiled, as she looked upon the sepulcher of her most favourite and expired acquaintance, the one she was most analogous to. The trees sung with the wind, and the clouds shaded all the light from that bright crystal in the obscured blue of the sky.

"Vous maîtrisez le marionnettiste."

She giggled sardonically as she departed from the evergreen of the grass, and the gray hues of marble. She departed from the tranquility of the cemetery, and never once looked back. It was all that it was supposed to be.

_You master puppeteer_.

* * *

_And that, dear reader, is the ending I leave you._

* * *

Author's Note:

(sobs) Oh my god. _Lolita _is finished. (lies un top of her keyboard and cries) When I started working on this project back in August, I never expected it to turn out like this. (cries) _Lolita_ has been one of the most challenging and joyful fics (or story in general) that I have ever written. I had a blast writing it, and I hope all the readers enjoyed my little tragic farce.

With this epilogue…_Lolita_ is complete. (cries) I have never enjoyed writing a fic as much as I did _Lolita_. After months of tiresome work and complaining, it is finally complete. Still got questions, unclear or unanswered? Ask away. I'll try my best to answer them.

I purposely made this chapter extremely vague, because I wanted to allow you room to think about the ending in your own ways. Concisely, this takes place a few years after Ritsuka "shot Soubi"—here, he is actually visiting Seimei's grave and not Soubi's, 'cause Soubi is well and alive. He is the man waiting at car. I couldn't let Soubi die. I really couldn't.

Also, once again, not very obvious (at least I think it isn't) is the fact that everything that happened in the five acts were secretly part of Ritsuka's plan to get out of the House, to completely destroy the Aoyagi name. By killing Ritsu, Ritsuka essentially destroys the only thing that could really keep him at the Aoyagi House, because Ritsu knew all that House's secrets; and by shooting Soubi, Ritsuka incapacitates Soubi so that he wouldn't be able to do anything, allowing Ritsuka the opportunity, with Nagisa as a "guardian", to destroy that House and the Aoyagi name. Of course, Soubi did not die, so when he woke up, obviously he would have realized what Ritsuka did, which is why Nagisa wonders "why he loves" Ritsuka (present tense!).

However, only Nagisa knows that everything was actually a ploy by Seimei to save his brother (she's like Katsuko, a friend of Ritsu and Mrs. Aoyagi). That's why she calls him the "master puppeteer", because it was Seimei's diary that changed Ritsuka (reading about all the evil things his mother had done and et cetera), and it was also Seimei's will that forced Soubi to take care of Ritsuka, and thus force them into that entrapment he made. (Nagisa-sensei is also the personification of Vivian Darkbloom in _Lolita_, who kinda had a thing with Quilty, Ritsu's mirror in _Lolita_ the novel.)

(cries) That…doesn't make sense! (cries)

Oh well…it's done; it's over. I'm glad. Any questions, confusions, flames (ouchies), or suggestions? Ask away!

Note: the opening of this epilogue was actually intended for the ending of Act V.

I would like to dedicate this to my long time friend, editor, muse and idol, "Tsubasa", and her newborn son, Jacob(born the morning ofFebruary 14, 2006). Tsubasa-neechan, if it were not you, I would not love writing the way I do, and I would not be the person I am today. Congrats on your baby. (glomps)

To all my readers, I thank you all—for you patience, kind words, and your support. Without you, _Lolita_ would not have turned out as one of my best stories.

Thank you!

_Jia Zhang_

* * *

© February 14, 2006 by Jia Zhang. All rights reserved.


End file.
